


Porte-Boner

by abadmeanman



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: ASScrack, Abuse of the French Language, Adrinette, Alcohol, Comical Miscommunications (obviously), Crack, Explicit Language, Explicit Language but it's in French, F/M, Farce, France - Freeform, French/English puns, Gen, I guess I should say I don't condone underage drinking, Masturbation, Maybe a specific type of crack, Multi, Mutual Masturbation, OT4, Pretentious Chapter Titles, Saucy, Underage Drinking, also be good about consent ffs, but being honest it's a Basic Teen Thing, heYO, i have been led to believe that this is a crack fic, juicy, ladrien, love square, pre-Volpina, probably the other two ships as well, probably time i tag the ship names, puns, rowdy - Freeform, so im adding crack, stay safe kids, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 37
Words: 240,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6771049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abadmeanman/pseuds/abadmeanman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the watchful eye of Alya, Marinette and Adrien discover that alcohol is a powerful social lubricant. One very informative game of truth or dare later, two drunk teens have to sneak out of bed and go save Paris. </p><p>Sure hope that doesn't become a theme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which A Party Is Planned Very Rapidly

**Author's Note:**

> I blame bullysquadess first, and siderealsandman second, but it's dadfunkadelic who made me a deep nerd first. How dare you do this to me, how dare you drag me into fandom hell. 
> 
> These first chapters are mostly farce; some of the later ones are sin.

“Come on, Marinette! Your parents are off to Marseilles for a _very_ romantic anniversary, and you’ve got a boulangerie full of rapidly-aging baked goods which they _specifically asked you to give to your friends_.” Alya put her hands on her hips and leaned into Marinette’s face. “They are practically begging for you to have a little Gottlieb Street loft party.”

“That is absolutely not true!” said Marinette, freaking out. “This is one _hundred_ percent a test to see how responsible I am! You don’t know what they're like, Alya! They hover and hover and now _this_!?”

Marinette’s face became a twitching, grimacing Picasso of a face. She chewed her fingernails with one hand, pulled at her hair with the other, briefly tried to compose herself, and then switched hands and resumed her nervous fidgets.

“I am doomed, Alya. Doomed.”

Marinette’s head thunked onto the desk as she gave a soft groan. Almost immediately, Alya’s hand thunked onto Marinette’s head, giving her a reassuring pat-pat-pat as she worked her friendish wiles.

“Look, I know that you think they’ve got some helicopter- _pere_ and spy satellite- _mere_ thing going on, but how bad could it possibly be?” Alya gave her pigtail a gentle tug upwards. Marinette’s head sluggishly lifted into the air, before bonking back down.  “You deserve a little fun, you’ve been tired all--and I mean literally all--semester. Treat yourself”

Her petite friend mumbled something fatalistic to the wood of the desk. Alya pulled both pigtails,  harder, but Marinette remained resolutely headdesked.

“It’s not like they’ve wiretapped your room and set up--”

Marinette stood bolt upright, her eyes growing larger than blueberry croustade, as two simultaneous gasps burst out of her purse and mouth, in that order. Alya (ever the journalist) gave her a look--had she heard a tiny gasp from Marinette’s handbag?

Evasive action. Classic approach: Marinette coughed in her hand, pretending the double-gasp sound was some sort of throat thing. She whirled around away from Alya, mumbling something about a cough drop.

 _Bugged my room? More like LADYBUGGED my room!_ Thought Marinette. _Mon dieu, Chat Noir must really be rubbing off on me_.

...

MERDE _WAIT NOT LIKE THAT DAMMIT!_

Mentally cursing her sable-suited partner in--crime? Law? Justice!-- for his entendre-laden influence, Marinette snapped open her purse and peeked at her tiny magical friend.

Tikki held one little nub-hand over her mouth, stifling a giggle, and presented Marinette with mint Lifesaver dangling around the other.

Marinette winked at Tikki and took the mint--close enough to a cough drop--and smiled, before she remembered how absurdly _foutred_ she would be if her parents had installed surveillance in her _room_.

They couldn't! Where did they put the microphones? When had they snuck in? It’s not like she was there all the time. They’d hear that--they’d find out about-- _merde_! And at night with Adrien’s poster--and Tikki!! And the secrets and the plotting and Alya’s matchmaking and the posters again and sneaking out and being Ladybug and and AND AND--

There were things Marinette said in her room that no one, but _no one_ could ever hear. The mere concept was too terrifying to entertain. Even now she could imagine her immense father tiptoeing up to her room, stealthily caching surveillance devices behind posters, in lamps, under her chaise longue, fingers moving with surprising delicacy to hide his espionage...

“Chill, girl! I said they probably _didn’t_ wiretap your--”

Marinette dissolved into a real fit of coughing, as her inevitable, startled gasp at the repeat mention of surveillance sucked minty freshness down her windpipe.

“Jeez, sorry, Marinette! I had no idea you'd be so worried about your big secret--” _COUGH COUGH “--_ getting out that you'd blow a gasket just hearing about your room getting mic’d--” _COUGH COUGH COUGH_. Marinette was a very familiar shade of red now. Alya was, too, but for mirth reasons, not panic.

“I mean come on, girl! What kind of lady bugs--” Marinette stopped breathing. _Did she just say_ Ladybug’s?

(Across the hall, down the stairs, past the lockers, and in the boy’s bathroom, Adrien felt his ears wiggle. _Did someone say_ Ladybug’s?)

“--her own daughter’s room?”

 _Phew_ , thought Marinette. _False alarm_.

( _Damn_ , thought Adrien. _False alarm_.)

Marinette felt a reassuring pat-pat-pat from her huge-noggined pal in her purse, and she summoned up all of Ladybug’s confidence to control her reactions, located primarily in her face. Two trios of friendly pats helped immeasurably.

Visibly straightening, and mentally assuring herself that her parents wouldn’t secretly bug her room despite her wild imaginings, Marinette breathed out a shaky sigh. Alya was calming down after a short, but very loud, burst of laughter at her bestie.

“You’re right Alya, they’re invasive but they wouldn't do that. Phew…”

“And it’s not like you're big secret is any mystery to anyone, anyways,” said Alya, waggling her eyebrows knowingly as she gathered her bits and bobs and sauntered away, oblivious to Marinette’s startled expression.

Marinette started, dumbstruck. _Alya knew? But how? She’d been so careful!_

 _Oh wait…_ There were things about Marinette’s private life which were nominally _secret_ , if not exactly well-hidden. She shoved her remaining things into her bag and sprung after Alya, flailing.

“Y-yeah! Adrien right? You mean about how I definitely it’s Adrien and ah haha ha yes! Adrien!” Marinette leaned against the doorframe with an unpracticed and unconvincing air of nonchalance.

Alya just laughed and waved, headed to her next class. “Just get it sorted out by afternoon classes and tell me who to invite!”

“You’ve really got to calm down, Marinette!” said Tikki, phasing through her purse. They were alone now that Alya had headed out. “Your secret is safer than you think!”

“I can’t help but worry, Tikki! I have to keep _way_ more secrets than the average Ladybug,” Marinette complained as she let her tiny red companion drag her away from the open classroom door.

“You might be surprised, Marinette! Everyone has a few secrets, but when it comes down to it, the most important one is often the hardest for other people to believe. It’s barely a secret that you like Adrien, too. And I mean, how come no one has noticed that you and Ladybug have the exact same hair?”

“We do!?!?”

“MAGIC, Marinette! It’s why you haven’t recogniiiiiaaaaactually never mind!”

“Wait... my hair doesn’t change when I’m Ladybug?”

“How have you not noticed that, Marinette?”

“I’m too busy saving Paris, Tikki! I don’t exactly have time to check a mirror.”

“The point is, it doesn’t matter! Magic helps keep it secret. But what _does_ matter is having a little fun _and_ proving to your parents that you can be a responsible young woman!”

“How can I do both of those things at once, though?! They would kill me if they found out  I had a big party. They would bake me, Tikki! It would be a Russian fairy tale! I’d get Baba Yaga’d!”

“They’re probably more understanding than you think! You’d just need to keep it not so big, and clean up afterwards. And who’s better at cleaning up destruction than Ladybug?”

Marinette paused in the middle of organizing her disarrayed personal effects. “Does that mean you think I should have this party?”

“Of course, Marinette! Some of the older Ladybugs had some _great_ parties to wind down at the end of a long Akuma season! And the best parties tend to have the best cookies…”

“Well that’s definitely encouraging but… wait hold on, Tikki--Akuma season?”

“Yeah! Haven’t you noticed? Akuma attacks are most common in the spring and summer! May was an absolutely _terrible_ time for Akumas, but now that it's the fall, butterflies migrate. That’s why you haven’t seen as many!”

“Wow, that was a lot of exposition, Tikki!”

“I kno rite!?”

“Is that why sometimes Chat Noir purrs and licks himself?”

“A miraculous can sort of… influence its holder, sometimes. Often. Nothing to worry about! Now is probably the _best_ time for a party.”

“Wait… does that mean I’m going to start doing ladybug stuff? I don’t even know what that means…”

“Don’t think about that, think about fun! I’m telling you, Marinette, you’ve earned it, really.”

“Okay!” Said Marinette, dramatically standing up and posing. “I’m going to have a great party and relax a little! I deserve it!”

“You deserve it!”

 

* * *

 

“Girl, I knew you’d see it my way.”

Alya was hunkered over her phone, scrolling through her contact list. The phrase “off the chain” and “get rekt” featured prominently into her mutterings.

“Alya, I live in the attic of a three-story walk up! I can’t invite too many people!”

“It’s not how _many_ you invite, sweet thing, it’s _who_ you invite. And you’re going to leave that _entirely_ up to me. I am thoroughly hijacking your guest list for my purposes.”

“What!? Alya, no!”

“Alya YES!” Holding her ladybugdazzled phone up for the world to see, Alya scampered off through the park.

Marinette considered chasing after her, but Alya was a surprisingly competitive distance runner. And she had a sneaking suspicion that even if she stole _yet another_ phone, there’s no way she’d be able to prevent Alya from drumming up whatever she felt was an appropriate crowd. Better just let it be.  

With a slightly worried, slightly eager sigh, Marinette turned right to get back to her family’s boulangerie. She could do this. She was ready for her first party.

 

* * *

 

**ALYA: Babe don't worry ima take care of everything**

**ALYA: Nino is going to bring his illegal Mexican energy drinks and Rose is bringing mixers**

**ALYA: I'm getting Ivan to get a playlist going with Nino, and Mylene should be able to snag some drank**

**ALYA: Her dad’s a mime and you know they gotta get turnt**

MARINETTE: I don't know if I want to have a huge drunk party, Alya!

MARINETTE: You know I love you but this might be a bit outside my comfort zone!

**ALYA: Girl.**

**ALYA: Girl.**

**ALYA: Marinette.**

**ALYA: Girl.**

**ALYA: Trust me.**

MARINETTE: Aaaa send one big text come on!

 **ALYA: You are a stressed little Marinette, and you have had a big** **_dieu zut_ ** **year**

 **ALYA: Your hat is part of the,** **_the_ ** **, Gabriel brand, and you designed an album cover for Jagged** **_Mere-Foutu_ ** **Stone**

**ALYA: (you should have tried to get in his tight stripey pants by the way)**

MARINETTE: ALYA! NO!

**ALYA: Alya yes**

**ALYA: Anyways, you’re amazing and you work too hard**

**ALYA: Relatedly, so am I and so do I, but I have too many siblings to throw a party**

**ALYA: Alix is getting some harder stuff from Jalil. Mylene’s dad is so French he’s a mime, so obviously it’s all wine, but Jalil can take requests. I’m thinking Cosmos, so vodka. You seem like a Cosmo girl, but I’m also going to ask for whiskey so we can pretend we’re cowboys or something. Also tequila, obviously, so we can make mistakes.**

MARINETTE: Oh my god Alya you have to help clean up after this! I don't want a weekend full of drunk teenagers to clean up after by myself!

**ALYA: GURL RELAX I’m Alya.**

**ALYA:  I’ll make Nino help.**

**ALYA: You just concentrate on unlocking the pastry hoard**

MARINETTE: no one locks up pastries

 **ALYA:** **_Chienne_ ** **give us pastries is what I mean. This night is all YOU and you are going to have a TIME.**

**ALYA: Now quit whining, pretend like you love fun, and get ready for the social event of YOUR fine young season**

**ALYA: I’ve even got a little surprise in store for you!**

MARINETTE: What? What is it?

**ALYA: Shh. Secret.**

**ALYA: Nino’s bringing you a present.**

MARINETTE: You’re planning something aren’t you

MARINETTE: What are you planning you fiend?

MARINETTE: Alya?

MARINETTE: ...Alya?

**ALYA: Unrelatedly, make sure to wear layers**

MARINETTE: ...what?


	2. In Which Marinette Is Clumsy, Of Course

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guest of honor arrives at Marinette's party, and Marinette promptly Marinettes it up. Commentary on Frenchness is made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive my absolutely (and intentionally) atrocious garbage French. I'm trying to keep the vulgarity to French terms, specifically because of the phrase "pardon my French," but I'm also going to transliterate the occasional unnecessary English idiom. Get excited.

**Previously, on Porte-Boner...**

 

**_ALYA: I’ve even got a little surprise in store for you!_ **

_MARINETTE: What? What is it?_

**_ALYA: Shh. Secret._ **

**_ALYA: Nino’s bringing you a present._ **

_MARINETTE: You’re planning something aren’t you_

_MARINETTE: What are you planning you fiend?_

_MARINETTE: Alya?_

_MARINETTE: ...Alya?_

**_ALYA: Unrelatedly, make sure to wear layers_ **

_MARINETTE: ...what?_

 

* * *

 

It was Adrien, of course. The surprise.

“You have no _idea_ how hard I had to lie,” said Nino, crossing through the park. “An honest guy like me! Paragon of virtue!”

“That’s not what Alya says…” murmured Adrien. Nino had successfully convinced Adrien’s worker-bee Natalie to let Adrien have his first sleepover. Of course, unbeknownst to Nathalie, the sleepover wouldn’t exactly be at Nino’s.

“Very specific virtues! I have some virtues,” Nino backtracked gracefully. “I have one virtue… I know what a virtue is, kind of…”

Adrien punched him in the shoulder. “You're a degenerate, Nino, and you love it.”

He had a (recently washed) gym bag full of sleepover materiel, everything Nino assured him he would need for a slightly-illicit high school slumber party, plus some basics based on Plagg’s recommendations. The basics: music, video games, three bottles of champagne (who was even keeping track of the larder in the Agreste compound, anyway? And he was pretty much legal age), some decadent Belgian chocolates, and twelve wheels of Camembert. Well… twelve wheels he was willing to put up to the appetites of partygoers, plus another six hidden in side pockets exclusively for Plagg.

“I can’t believe you brought all that cheese man. You’re the Frenchest guy I know.”

“Oh yeah? But you know Mr. Haprèle, and he’s a mime. Mimes are _way_ more French than Camembert.”

“Nothing about that last sentence made any sense, nerd,” said Nino, punching him back. “I’m riddled with vice, but I know that an obsession with French cheeses is Gallic to the core.”

“Guilty as charged. Hey,” said Adrien. “Are we headed back to the Collége?”

“Took you long enough to notice. Nah man! It’s a pastry party. Some lovely ladies have seen fit to get pissed and get pasteles. Get pissed-teles.”

“That was almost a play on words, Nino. Wait--” Adrien gulped. “Ladies?”

In his mind, this sleepover slumber party thing was a gentleman’s affair, where his _jeune hommies_ would play video games and talk _about_ girls, rather than interact _with_ them. It was all much more intimidating all of a sudden. Especially if you considered who might be there, and what they might do...

Nino glanced at his artfully-coiffed friend. Even flummoxed, he looked like a model selling haute Gabriel-branded confused-teen couture. “Don’t worry, Chloe won’t be there.”

Adrien sighed in relief. He’d probably be deflecting at least a few fangirls, just given who he was. Fighting off Chloe’s advances for a whole night seemed difficult at best, impossible at worst, but if she was there, then the admirers should be manageable.

Wait a minute… was that incredibly conceited? Oops. Adrien didn’t really know how any of this worked.

“Marinette’s family bakery is right next to the school.”

“Marinette?” _Oh right. That explains the baked goods._

 _Huh._ He had no idea Marinette even thought he was a friend. Or liked him. Or tolerated him.. She was always so… awkward when she was around him. And he tried! But she clearly avoided him. Except that one time in the bathroom… And that time with her uncle… and he’d been so weird when he asked for her autograph…He couldn’t seem to do anything right around her. But she was smoother around Chat Noir, so...

“That’s great.” Maybe this was a good chance to make things up to her? Maybe she likes champagne? Maybe she likes cheese? He knew she liked video games so maybe...

_Oh wait Nino’s still talking._

“Yeah boy! Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie et Party-sserie! They're off on vaycay and Marinette’s got the place to herself. We’ve got all the time in the world to get absolutely ridiculous.”

“Wait hold on! I mean there’s… okay there’s girls there, yeah? I thought this was going to be a boy’s night out type of event.”

“Adrien. Bro. Are you ten. Please tell me, are you just the tallest ten year old I have ever met. You can tell me, I am your good friend Nino, a big boy. This isn’t third grade America, Ade! Big grown up teens like us, we do mixed gender parties!”

Adrien blushed. It seemed like every time he thought he was getting on top of this whole be-a-normal-teen thing, he found out something else that was blasé to everyone but him.

“Sorry, man. I guess I thought this was a dude thing? Kinda my first time, and all.”

Nino paused, stopping Adrien with a hand on the shoulder.

“Hey, pretty boy, come on! You’re not gonna back out just because it’s some girls, right?”

“No! No. I like girls but--”

“YEAH you do. And they like your pretty _foutu_ face”

“--Shut up--but I just wasn’t… uh… emotionally prepared for that, I guess?”

Nino rolled his face into an expression of sassy incredulity. “The great scion of the Agreste line, emotionally stunted? Never!”

Adrien blushed harder, laughing. Nino gave him a hard time specifically because he _wasn’t_ a regular kid. Nino knew firsthand how restrictive Adrien’s upbringing had been, and he had the akuma therapy bills to prove it. It was just how he showed his love. Tough dude-love. Vastly preferable to the rarefied, extremely difficult to observe( or identify or conceptualize or experience) love he was used to.

“I may be emotionally stunted, but at least I have the great Nino to guide me. Guide me Nino,” Adrien closed his eyes and held out his hand. “Guide me. I place myself in your hands.”

“I’ll guide you into a lamppost you chump. If you’re placing yourself in _anyone_ ’s hands, you should probably pour them a drink first, sunflower. That’s lesson number one for tonight.” He paused in front of Marinette’s door, giving Adrien an exaggerated wink. “We’re here! So get ready for Adrien Agreste’s second EVER party! Also sorry about the last one, we can laugh about that now.”

Considering how the first one went, Adrien was slightly nervous walking up the steps to Marinette’s. Not to mention he’d be up _Crique du Merde sans un rame_ if Natalie ever found out.

 

* * *

 

Marinette was struggling to open a bottle of cheap red wine when Adrien and Nino arrived. Braced against the table, Alya was grasping the body of the bottle while Marinette held the corkscrew and heaved. Right as Adrien walked into Marinette’s living room, she managed to pry loose the turgid cork and went sprawling backwards at Marinette-accident speeds.

“Waaa-aaa!!”

“Hey, Alya, hey Marin--” Adrien gasped and dived forward to catch Marinette before she brained herself on something dangerous. Then again, knowing Marinette, any solid object could be a hazard.

Marinette’s head and back collided with Adrien’s chest right before she would have bonked herself on the corner of the couch. The force of the tiny seamstress moshing into his torso threw Adrien back over the arm of the couch, tripping him and kicking his legs up. They framed Marinette as he tipped backwards, almost entirely _cul-sur-bouilloire_. Marinette came to a stop with her shoulders on the arm of the couch, leaning backwards so far her thighs made a ninety degree angle with her calves.

Everyone’s eyes were _very_ big.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t--” Marinette began, carefully rotating her torso and neck so as not to lose her balance. She was still propped up by her shoulders, body mostly parallel with the floor.

Adrien was still slightly dazed, ass propped on the arm of the chair, legs on either side of Marinette. Marinette’s shoulders were on the same arm of the chair. When she rotated, she came face-to-...head… with the littlest member of the Agreste family. Her eyes got bigger.

Nino and Alya, predictably, guffawed.

For a moment, Marinette and Adrien just stared: Adrien at Marinette’s head in his junk, and Marinette at the aforementioned junk.

Blink blink.

“Yeah Marinette! Get a taste!” Nino’s whistle pierced the stunned silence of the melee, followed closely by Alya’s howl of laughter.

“Whooo girl, smooth as SILK!”

Alya and Nino collapsed into each other, helplessly shaking and barely unable to keep teasing their best friends. Being who they were, though, no force short of an Akuma attack could keep them from trolling their B’s FF.

With uncharacteristic (well, for Marinette, if not Ladybug) nimbleness and alacrity, Marinette sprung to her feet, face contorting in an agonized expression of shock and horror. Successfully, she hoped, she’d managed to keep the embarrassingly high level of interest off her face; she’d never been quite so close to Adrien’s... _paquet_. She Vogue’d her hands around her head as she stammered out an apology:

“Bu-- B-- I-- my no-- Aa but-- didn't--AAA- never meant to-- _MON DIEU_ \--s-sorry I--aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhggghhhhhh.” This last was let out as a slow groan as Marinette slid bonelessly to the floor, becoming a bright red puddle with pigtails.

Alya grabbed a spatula from the counter and began to scrape her BFF pancake of the floor.

Leaning over, she whispered “Okay babe I know that was _mere-foutu_ embarrassing but I promise you in a year you will look back on this moment and laugh, seriously.”

At the same time, Nino was hauling a slightly dazed and also stammering Adrien up from the sofa.

“It’s fine--I just--oh are you--sorry I didn't!-- are you o--Nino quit it!” Nino’s cheeks puffed out with suppressed laughter as he made an elaborate show of dusting Adrien’s clothes off and straightening his collar.

“There you go, Monsieur, prim and proper,” Nino teased. “Ready for your shoot, no one the wiser!” He capped off his butler routine with double finger guns, ruining the effect.

Marinette was busy deciding which shade of red she wanted to turn. She was somewhere between vermillion and amaranth when Alya’s gentle face slaps going paf-paf-paf woke her from her shame-reverie.

“Ah! Adrien! I’m so sorry! I di-di-di-...sorry!” she stammered, only half as bad as before.

Adrien pushed Nino aside, earning an “aw come on, again?”, and walked up to a rapidly shrinking-in-on-herself Marinette.

“It’s fine, Marinette, I’m fine. I just hope you’re okay! Did, uh… did you hurt yourself or anything?”

(Alya, aside: “Just her blood pressure, beau!”)

(Nino, aside, giggling: “Shut it, _ma petite_ _cherie_ , she's gonna pop.”)

“No, you’re fine! I mean I’m between your legs! I mean I’m fine with you! I mean, let me between your legs. I mean everything is perfect, yes!” said Marinette, proud of herself for not stuttering, kicking herself internally for not being able to turn thoughts into the words which represented them.

“Good! Good.” _Okay Adrien change the subject don’t be weird._ “You, uh… got some wine there, I see.”

“Ha ha! Y-yes, we are French! We have wine because of that. It is… from France?”

Marinette’s imagination portrayed a cartoonishly-rendered tableau of her pulling an immense hammer out of her tiny bag and pounding it into her head repeatedly for making such a dumb comment.

“ _Tres bien_! I brought some champagne, too! It’s…also French?”

 _Ah, cher Adrien… so kind, even when I just mauled him_ , thought Marinette. She banished her imagination for the time being. Adrien was in _her_ house, for _her_ party, so clearly her imagination couldn’t possibly make things any better than they were, only worse, and likely in a fundamentally different visual style.

To the side, Alya collapsed onto Nino, who had clapped a hand over his mouth to keep from exploding into guffaws. The Gallicness of the room was thick enough his laughter would probably come out all “Hon hon hon hon! _Sacre bleu_ !” Alya, meanwhile, muffled a hysterical peal of laughter into Nino’s chest. She recovered a moment later--journalistic instincts inspiring her to at least _witness_ the train wreck she was adjacent to--and wiped tears of laughter off of her glasses.

Adrien held the back of his neck with one hand and looked bashful, while Marinette clutched her hands in front of her, leaning forward a little and grinning too widely. Both were giggling a little nervously, and neither had said anything for exactly the amount of time for it to be weird to outside observers.

Alya had to intervene before it got any cuter. She stepped forward to grab Marinette’s arm and drag her away, when she was interrupted.

“Uh… hi Adrien,” said Ivan.

The wine-accident quartet looked up at Marinette’s trap door to see the heads of Ivan, Mylene, Rose, and Juleka. Alix peered over the top of Ivan’s head.

Marinette and Adrien shared a single thought: _How much of that did they see?_ Both secretly hoped they hadn’t seen Marinette almost faceplant into Adrien’s package, but there was no doubt that they’d noticed the extremely awkward exchange afterwards. Then again, everyone but Adrien already knew exactly how awkward Marinette was around Adrien, and why, so it wasn’t much of a surprise.

Thankfully, before they could think too much more about how embarrassed they were, Alya saved the day.

“Okay my little _merdes_ , get the _foutre_ up into Marinette’s room so we can get this thing _mere-foutu_ STARTED. We _very_ thoroughly popped some more wine, so get started without us!”

Alya handed Nino and Adrien each two bottles of opened wine (only the fourth had given them any trouble), and pushed them up the ladder to Marinette’s pink-as- _foutre_ loft.

She smirked to herself as she heard her favorite classmates greet each other and clink drink ware, counting down.

_Three, two, one--_

“A HA HA YES, SAY, ALYA, LET ME GET YOUR HELP WITH THESE PASTRIES!”

Marinette yanked Alya into the hall, almost detaching her flannel buttons in the process.

“NO PROBLEM MARINETTE BE RIGHT BACK GUYS,” Alya said a little too loudly.

Marinette swung Alya out the door and into the stairwell. She almost careened off the wall, but managed to catch herself--Marinette could really get some velocity going, turned out.

“ALYA,” Marinette shouted and whispered at the same time. “You invited _Adrien_?!?!”

“Okay first of all, you’re welcome--”

“ _First of all how dare you_ , second of all you _invited_ Adrien!?”

“It’ll be fine, _mon ami_ ! Have I ever steered you wrong?” She took a look at Marinette’s pained puppy-dog-eyes. “Well okay, have I ever steered you wrong about _Adrien_?”

“Y-you definitely ha--huh,” said Marinette. Her face grew into an expression of puzzled contemplation. “I guess... not really?”

“See? Marinette, you literally planned out your _life_ together this summer, and I am _extremely_ making this happen. I’m just… pumping the gas a little. Pump pump. Get some juice. Get some _juice_ , girlfriend. Get it.”

“By surprising me with the _love of my life_ in the first _secret illegal party I have ever had_?”

“Okay look underage drinking is BARELY illegal. As you and Adrien both _thoroughly_ established, we are in France.”

“Not the point, Alya!”

“Ex- _actly_ the point, Marinette! A little social lubricant to lubricate your social life, no?”

“I am going to have to drown in wine to survive tonight!”

“No no no, Marinette, Wingman Alya will keep you perfectly liquored. And then hopefully get you even more lickered.”

“What do you--ALYA!”

“Me! Hey, look! When in doubt, use your feminine wiles. And when in doubt of your feminine wiles, use your beverage wiles. And when in doubt of those, _literally give him a taste_.”

“Alya you are a _pervert_ I can’t _believe_ what you’re suggesting!” Marinette was back to a light vermillion.

...

“...um… but you think it might work?”


	3. In Which Adrien Is Very Homeschooled And Alya Raises The Stakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien tries to redeem himself for his abysmal dance performance at his last party; Marinette becomes embarrassed; Alya thickens the plot; kwami are surprisingly chill about underage drinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Google Translate for the absolute garbage French obscenities I'll be using. I would also like to apologize for what I can only assume is an insufficient commitment to correct diacritical marks.
> 
> Foutu: fucking  
> Foutre: fuck  
> Merde: shit  
> Chienne: bitch
> 
> etc, etc
> 
> I dedicate the awkwardness in this chapter to my strong good friend and favorite birthday boy @dadfunkadelic.

 

_“I am going to have to drown in wine to survive tonight!”_

_“No no no, Marinette, Wingman Alya will keep you perfectly liquored. And then hopefully get you even more lickered.”_

_“What do you--ALYA!”_

_“Me! Hey, look! When in doubt, use your feminine wiles. And when in doubt of your feminine wiles, use your beverage wiles. And when in doubt of those, literally give him a taste.”_

_“Alya you are a pervert I can’t believe what you’re suggesting!” Marinette was back to a light vermillion._

_..._

_“...um… but you think it might work?”_

 

* * *

 

 

By the time Marinette and Alya made it back up to the loft (Alya having reminded Marinette that they were supposed to be hauling up a tub of pastries), the party was in full swing. Ivan had brought a Jagged Stone centered playlist, and Nino was mixing what he referred to as “the sickest of beats.” The girls were dancing and sipping straight from open bottles of wine, or from paper cups filled with the hard stuff mixed with Rose’s orange juice. Adrien was dancing, too, inasmuch as posing like you’re about to start dancing counts as dancing. His lack of dancing expertise wasn’t a surprise to anyone--they’d all been at the Bubbler’s party.

Marinette--ever the gracious host--hovered around the dance floor, passing out pastries to perpetually-hungry teens. Alya opened the skylight to let some Teen Aromas drift out and keep the room from getting too stuffy, and Adrien gradually learned how to move his body to something close to a rhythm. Every so often, his gaze would wander over to Mylène grinding on Ivan and he would start blushing  _furiously_.

Nino, letting the playlist speak for itself for a while, wrapped an arm around Adrien.

“Come on,  _frere_! It’s what the cool kids are doing! Go find someone to grind with!” In a conspiratorial whisper, he added, “Alya might have some recommendations…”

“What?” said Adrien, confused again, as Nino twirled off. He looked around the room:

Ivan and Mylène were pretty obviously sticking to each other like two slices of Camembert melting in a summer sun. Zut alors _, Plagg, get out of my subconscious,_ he thought  _._

Rose and Juleka were doing a lady-and-the-tramp thing with one of Tom and Sabine’s eclairs.

Alya was whispering something into Nino’s ear that made his friend blush a deep mahogany-red.

Alix was propped in the corner, furiously texting someone--it looked like Max and Kim, from the contact photos.

And Marinette was… was she looking at him?

 

* * *

 

 

Marinette was sitting on her swivel chair, leaning back against her desk and gawking at Adrien. He was a clumsy dancer, definitely, but he somehow managed to look like a golden-haired Adonis  _pretending_ to be a clumsy dancer. Something about his sheepish grin and good-natured failure at coolness paired with the poise and composure from years of catwalks and photo shoots to make him look simultaneously like a huge dork, and a seductive sex-cultist lap dancer.

Well, to Marinette, at least.

She froze as he met her gaze, doing an excellent chameleon impression as she changed color to match her room. As immediately as she could, she averted her eyes, pretending to check out the upcoming tracks on the playlist--you know, like a normal person and not a voyeur.

 _Mon dieu_. Adrien was walking over to her. Marinette was already halfway through her own bottle of wine, and she eagerly wished for another as she drained it the rest of the way while Adrien strolled over, perfect and pristine as a Greek statue, but with a bigger di-  _Shut up, internal monologue_ , she thought to herself.  _Just because your face was right in his grande paquet does NOT mean you can spend any more time than usual thinking about his_ Tour d’Eiffel  _. Focus._

“So Marinette um…”

“LOOKIN’ GOOD OUT THERE, SPORT,” said Marinette, definitely too loudly.

“Oh! Oh! Thank you! I haven’t ever really done any dancing so…”

“A-ah well uh, you’re fine! I mean you LOOK fine! Oh god I mean your DANCING was perfect--I mean fine! You were great inside my --I mean you were looking like a Greek --uh…” She was getting nowhere with this. Better do what she normally did. “Uh, thank you?”

“Um. You’re welcome. But...for what?” Adrien was confused but, flattered, maybe? He wasn’t sure.

“FOR COMING yes, thank you for coming, I'm glad to make you come,” --across the room, an eavesdropping Alya blasted some Cosmo out of her nose--”I MEAN I’M GLAD YOU CAME TO THIS PARTY.”

Adrien did not get the double entendre.

“Me too! I can barely ever get out and I was so glad to get some more of your baking. I had to be super sneaky just to get the time away,” Adrien did the hand-on-his-neck thing again, oblivious to the anticipatory stares of everyone else in the room. Even Mylène and Ivan were grinding more subtly, watching him speak to Marinette. “I mean I haven’t been here since the Ultimate Mecha Strike III tournament, but I, uh… really like your place.”

Marinette’s eyes expanded even further and she felt her smile get two steps past “uncomfortably toothy.” She started giggling nervously. “Tha-thank you, Adrien. You’re uh… always… welcome?”

Unobserved by the most awkward duo, Alya and Nino high fived quietly.

Adrien repositioned himself to lean against the desk.

“So, um. Nino said that I should ask Alya to recommend someone to learn how to dance with but…” He looked away, and Marinette followed his gaze to Alya.

Alya was doing her best virtuous nun face, as she daintily dabbed some Cosmo-spray off of her nose and the wall.

“But I figured she’d be recommending you so I… um…”

Marinette trembled all over. After her catastrophic plowing into Adrien ( _and not the other way around, alas_ ) (  _Shut up, libido!_ she thought again), she had started swigging cheap red wine just to keep herself from vibrating at ten times the speed of light and disintegrating into an infinite myriad of subatomic particles. It was almost working, too. Was Adrien asking her to  _dance_?

“Sorry, I’ve never really been to a party like this, and I’ve never really asked…”

“...Asked what, Adrien?”

“Asked… a girl… to… please dance with me?”

“Aaaa!” she screamed, lightly.

“What?”

“Just a second!”

Marinette turned around and bounced up and down a few times, smiling so widely that she felt something in her cheek pop. She whirled back around.

“Yes! Ablo-slutly! I mean youcompleteme! I mean absolutely! Ha ha! Wine!”

Adrien smiled a perfect model smile--brilliant and white, with a hint of bashfulness--and reached out his hand.

Marinette took it, flushing down to her knees.

“Good! That’s good. Um…..” he hesitated. “How do we… start?”

Marinette caught him looking over at Ivan and Mylène, who were currently “dancing” up against a wall. Mylène was, it turned out, an  _aggressively_ good dancer, and Ivan looked like he was in an opium cloud as she worked it all over him. Well--as “all over” as Mylène’s short frame could reach.

Purely by scandalized reaction, Marinette squeezed Adrien’s hand, and he squeezed back. Ivan and Mylène’s little tango had gotten even more sexual than the grinding he’d witnessed moments before--there had to be a new word for this. Pulverizing? Something intense.

“Start me off slow! I was homeschooled!” Adrien said. His eyes were very wide, and very green. He looked like he was resisting the urge to dab himself with a handkerchief.

Marinette couldn’t help but laugh. Here was the glorious and beautiful Adrien Agreste, holding her hand, asking her to dance with him, blushing harder than she’d ever seen anyone but herself blush. Marinette wasn’t a social butterfly by any means (butterflies having a pretty distinct negative connotation to her, nowadays), but she’d been to enough parties to not be scandalized by a little  _dancing_.

...But going full Mylène was probably too much for her, too.

Adrien had almost always been perfect and beautiful to her, but he’d never been… adorable? Was that what he was right now?

Most people get a little courage when they drink. They might use it to make slightly reckless choices, or slightly reckmore choices. For Marinette in this moment, however, she was the perfect level of soused (very) where she was bold enough to do ten percent of what she  _wanted_ to do. Which made her just barely capable of existing this close to Adrien  _foutu_ Agreste.

“Well okay, Mr. Homeschool, I’ll try to teach you a few things. If you’re a good learner I promise to only step on your foot accidentally, too!” Wait, was she flirting? Wine was great! “Do what I do, but uh… with more… manliness?”

The next hour passed in a cliche training montage, as Marinette gyrated and rocked her body with regular human levels of confidence, and barely a quarter of the repressed sexual desire for her partner that was her otherwise constant companion. Across the room, Alya kept giving her encouraging nods, and gesturing to  _ramp it the_ foutre  _up, girl!_ But the remaining sober fraction of Marinette was barely holding it together that she was dancing in the same  _commune_ as Adrien, let alone trying to actually teach him anything raunchy, let alone trying to actually flirt.

Adrien, if nothing else, took direction very well. He matched Marinette’s move, but tried to give them a little bit of a model-type flare, matching what he was used to on the runway. He kept his space, making sure not to emulate Ivan’s impressive pelvic antics. He felt like he learned something--Nino caught his eye and gave him a thumbs up, nodding vigorously and mouthing the word “NICE.”

It’s fun to learn, thought Adrien, a total nerd.

 

* * *

 

 

Alya is a woman on a mission, and her mission is to get Marinette Made Out With. Nino’s assistance with Operation Get Them Dancing had been invaluable, but it was only stage one of an impeccably choreographed evening. Next up: Raise the Damn Stakes.

Sometime in the evening, she had acquired a wineglass and a butter knife, and with a nod to Nino, she gently tapped them together as burgeoning DJ dialed down the jams. Everyone looked to her, perched up on Marinette's lofted bed. She slid a wink to Marinette, whose dance lessons for Adrien had brought the awkward two closer and closer to each other over the last hour.

“Okay party people! This is absolutely a good time, but you know me: why have a good time when you could have a  _great_ time instead?” She was met with raucous and slightly inebriated cheers. Adrien, again at his first house party, joined in a little bit late.

“I suggest, and I am of course correct, that we play ourselves a little bit of a  _drinking game_.”

The teens hooted and hollered at this extremely fine idea. Alya pretended to take suggestions for her captive audience, acknowledging calls of “Never Have I Ever” and “Spin the Bottle” and, finally, her intended outcome, “Truth or Dare.” The art, she figured, was in making them think that she hadn’t planned it to go exactly like this. Alya  _yes_.

“Truth or Dare! I like the sound of that. But how about a little out for our more bashful guests: Truth, Dare, Drink, or Strip.”

A chorus of oh la la’s arose from the crowd.

 

* * *

 

 

Meanwhile, the House of York was defeating the House of Lancaster on the battleground of Marinette’s face. Paling rapidly, she twirled to the corner, barely noticing that Adrien had also turned away, ducking his head.

“Tikki!” she whispered with intense concern. “Tikki is this a terrible idea? You’re thousands of years old, how many Ladybugs have been completely ruined by this game?!?”

“You’ll be fine, Marinette! You can just drink instead of telling the truth!”

“Doesn't that seem like it might be more trouble, long-term, though!?”

“Marinette, these people can’t find out that you’re Ladybug, but they’re  _also_ less than a dozen inebriated teenagers! They might try to get you out of your shirt, but they won’t be organizing the Spanish Inquisition! If Ladybug can survive  _that_ , she can survive a lycéenne’s drinking game!”

“Wait, the Spanish Inquisition tried to--”

“Also if you need some alone time I will understand!”

“What?”

“Like with a boy!”

“ _What_?!”

“Just go have fun, Marinette! I’ll keep an eye out to make sure everything’s okay! I’m  _very_ lucky, after all.” Tikki continued, mumbling softly to herself something which might have been “...and maybe you’ll  _get_ lucky, finally.”

“You’re the best, Tikki! Between you and Alya, I can’t even imagine a better friend,” said Marinette, slipping the tiny red kwami a chocolate croissant.

“But I bet you can imagine a better BOY-friend!”

“Marinette?” said someone over her shoulder.

“Ohmygod have you been talking to Alya!? Hide, Tikki! Also shut up! Also sorry I love you.”

Tiny giggles were the only evidence of Tikki’s presence as Marinette turned around. Time for a cover story. “Had to get another madeleine! So good! Yeah, let’s do this, I’m definitely not embarrassed!”

 

* * *

 

 

“Plagg!” whispered Adrien into his shirt. “Plagg! Is this a terrible idea?”

“Is what a terrible idea? Not bringing me cheese? Yes, you are so right.”

“No, Plagg, playing this game! I’ve never played anything like this!”

“You’ll be fine, probably.”

“That doesn’t help Plagg! Have other Chat Noirs safely navigated drinking games? Plagg, I barely know how to drink!”

“Pretend it’s cheese, and just put it in your mouth, drinking is easy.”

“Not the point, Plagg! Am I in danger if I play?”

“Adrien, Adrien, you’re a teen Chat noir, and I try to avoid the antics of teen superheroes as much as possible. Now get me cheese, flirt with someone, and let me go back to sleep.”

“Uh wait Plagg… would… would Ladybug approve?”

Plagg gave him an exhausted green stare. “Ladybug is a teen, too, pretty boy. She probably likes to light it up during her downtime more than you realize. It’ll be fine, probably. Now where is my cheese?”

 _Cats shouldn't be eating this much cheese_ , thought Adrien as he slipped a chunk of Camembert to his lazy lump of a kwami. He turned around, giddy with nerves, as Alya explained the rules of the game.

 

* * *

 

 

“Okay, my little  _incroyables_ and  _merveilleuses_ , the game is Truth, Dare, Drink, or Strip. The rules are as follows:

“I’ll start, and I’ll choose someone to challenge to a Truth or a Dare, their choice.

“Whichever they choose, I come up with a Truth or a Dare, and they have to tell the truth or perform the dare.  _Comme de juste_.

“If they refuse to tell the Truth, they have to take a drink.

“If they refuse to do the Dare, they have to strip one article of clothing.

“House Rules (which yes, I am making for Marinette’s house):

“1: keep it inside the  _boulangerie_ ”

“2: What happens in the  _boulangerie_ stays in the  _boulangerie_. This is for  _fun_ not for  _blackmail_.

“3: Don’t be a gauche creep. Don’t sexually harass your friends, yeah?

“4: No truth-shaming or dare-shaming. If someone doesn't want to tell something, or do a dare, we respect that.

“4a: Corollary to 4, we can still tease them a little bit.

“4b: Corollary to 4, no repeating dares on the same person to peer pressure them!

“5: No barfing in Marinette’s very nice pink room.

“These are the rules! Raise your right hand and swear to follow the sacred tenets of Truth Or Dare Plus, or be forever lightly teased.”

All present dutifully so swore, some with considerably more nervous energy than before.

“Excellent!” said Alya. “Now, we can begin.”

 _Oh_ , thought Marinette.  _I should definitely have worn layers..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super flattered by the kudos and comments! Thanks, y'all! I seriously can't believe that my sempais noticed me.
> 
> EDIT: Changing references from Collége to Lycée. Marinette and Adrien are out of Collége at this point, but conveniently enough, they converted Collége Francois-Dupont to a Lycée right after they graduated. Bon chance!


	4. In Which The Game Commences and Adrien Gets Territorial, A Little

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alix's poorly-planned question leads to a discussion of celebrity crushes. Certain Facts Are Revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate seeing y'all's comments and kudos. I hope that I can continue to entertain!
> 
> There is yet more absolute garbage French in this chapter, including a really dubious use of the -euse suffix. I apologize, but I will also continue to be awful.
> 
> Also, I think this one is a little longer.

 

_“These are the rules! Raise your right hand and swear to follow the sacred tenets of Truth Or Dare Plus, or be forever lightly teased.”_

_All present dutifully so swore, some with considerably more nervous energy than before._

_“Excellent!” Said Alya. “Now, we can begin.”_

Oh _, thought Marinette_. I should definitely have worn layers.. _._

 

* * *

 

The first truth or dare of the night always sets the tone. Alya had to be careful with her dare. Luckily for a loft full of pastry-filled teenagers, she had scripted her first challenge far beforehand. Paris’ number one superhero reporter had a certain personal standard of excellence to maintain; the Ladyblogeuse would  _not_ have her peers want for An Experience. Especially a certain romantically deprived hostess.  

Granted, Alya’s plans focused less on romance than other forms of intimacy, for the moment.

Since the beginning of the school year, the Ladyblog had shaped Alya as much as she had shaped it. First and foremost, she had learned that it was important to mix substance with spectacle.

While Marinette and Rose arranged some pillows and blankets on the floor, for reclining purposes, Alya made a show of pondering who to ask, and what to ask of them. Finger on chin, tapping away, eyes closed behind glasses, gently humming “hmmmmmmmm”’s to herself.  After everyone was suitably nested (and supplied with an appropriately full beverage), Alya struck with the force and intensity of a video game attorney.

“MYLÈNE! Truth or Dare!?”

Mylène, true to form, jumped in surprise, a sudden mess of colorful, bouncing hair and cleavage. She almost immediately giggled and shook it off--she’d had a few of Rose’s screwdrivers, and wasn’t feeling afraid of _anything_.

“Truth!”

Alya grinned to herself. _Called it._ No one ever started with a dare.

“Hmmmm, okay, let me think...” Alya lied. She’d had her question stored away, fermenting into something rich and potent. “Aha! Here we go:”

“Laying it on a little thick, aren’t you?” Nino asked her, in a whisper. He earned an elbow in the ribs for his snark.

“Mylène: what base have you gotten to with Ivan?”

Adrien and Alya looked to Mylène for an answer, but everyone else looked confused. Including, especially, Mylène.

“Um… what do you mean?”

“You know! What base? Like, baseball. First base is kissing, second base is--”

“Alya, no one knows anything about baseball here,” interrupted Adrien. “It’s pretty much soccer or nothing. Or as the French call it, football.”

“Ah, you Europeans! I can’t believe it. What do you suggest instead? Time-out for cultural exchange.” Alya made a time-out motion with her hands. Wait--was that an _American_ football gesture? Oops. Can’t trust the Metropole to keep up with civilized sports.

Marinette gazed at Adrien as he furrowed his perfect, flawless, sculpted brow. _Given his fashion lifestyle, he’s one of the best-travelled teenagers in Paris, if not the world. Of course he knows about exotic Western Hemisphere sports that no one else understands or cares about. How...worldly..._

“Ah!” he said, and Marinette looked away, intently studying her paper cup of champagne. Adrien had managed to scrounge up some extremely good bubbly, which Marinette was enjoying between wide-eyed gazings.

“Let’s do it like the French Revolution! So the Fall of the Bastille is kissing, the Reign of Terror is feeling up, the Directory is touching each other’s… uh…” Adrien blushed. “And First Consul Bonaparte is f... _fout…_ fornicating.”

Everyone was staring at Adrien like he’d grown a second, even more handsome head. Entranced, but likely for the wrong reasons.

 _Or maybe like they can see a tiny floating cat, OH NO_ , he thought. His heart rate increased dramatically, and he blinked rapidly for a few moments in panic. Luckily (for a change), by the time his irises had shrunk to a panicked pinpoint, he felt the distinctive purring rumble of a sleeping Plagg in his pocket.

“Uh… what?” asked everyone except Alix.

“Adrien, you are the hugest dork I have ever heard of.” This from Alix.

“History is really interesting!”

“Yeah but it’s not _sexy_ ,” added Alya.

 _First of all how dare you it totally is, second of all_ “Neither is baseball! History is WAY sexier than baseball!” he actually said.

“Oooh, Adrien gets turned on by historyyyyy!” teased Ivan.

“Look everyone knows the timeline, right? It's easy to remember! The farther along in the revolution, the farther you’ve gone! It’s a world-historical series of events!”

“I can’t believe we’re entertaining this idea,” said Nino. “Alya, tell me we’re not doing this. It’s the weekend! I can’t even _subtract_ on the weekend!”

“I like it!” chimed in Marinette.

Alya went with it, her wingman instincts trumping her desperate need to tease Adrien for being a nerd.

“Yeah! I like it too, it’s a great idea, if you ignorant continentals don’t know anything about baseball. Doomed to repeat it, or whatever. Plus this saves me from asking a Truth to Adrien: ‘How much of a huge _foutu_ dork are you?’”

She rolled back and kicked her legs, cackling with laughter, and was joined by all of her classmates except a certain bashful girl and a certain blushing boy.

Marinette poked him and whispered, “Hey, I like history too.”

Immediately, he turned around and gave her a relieved smile. Her eyes got big and she looked down and away, unable to believe she’d done something so…

Huh. It wasn’t actually that embarrassing at all. _Poking people in the shoulder and offering words of support isn’t ever embarrassing! Wine is great!_ Marinette giggled to herself and tossed back the rest of her liquid social competence.

Mylène interrupted the mirth with a quiet “umm.”

“Umm. I guess if we’re using a revolutionary scale…” She looked at Ivan, nervous. Ivan looked like some kind of Christmas ornament: round, bright red, topped with a frosted tuft. But he nodded to her. Let the oversharing begin.

“I guess we’re at um…  the Directory.” Mylène flushed as red as a certain spotted heroine.

Everyone paused to convert French historical events to the associated sexual endeavors proposed by Adrien’s absurd metric. After a moment, the circle of friends erupted in cheers and laughter and congratulations. Ivan and Mylène looked mostly flustered, but at least a little proud of themselves. They’d gone first, after all. Potentially in more ways than one.

“But we… um… have sort of tried to get to the Consulate. And we tried to do… I guess the battle of Trafalgar?”

Everyone paused for a moment to work out the timeline. The Battle of Trafalgar was a few years into the 19th century, definitely imperial, decidedly post-revolution. So... what did it mean that they’d _tried_? What did it mean that they went _past_ the consulate? Oh la la!

As if timed by an unheard beat, all eyes snapped to Ivan. His cheeks were Marinette-red and he was busy looking everywhere around the room except at anyone else. He’d stuffed a croissant in his mouth to delay the inevitable question of _how come Mylène said “you tried”_?

But Mylène wasn’t done. Wine! Sharing!

“By which I mean, um… sometimes significant historical events are a little too overwhelming. Scary, even. And… a little too… big?”

Crickets chirped in the silence, for a second.

Then everyone got loud all at once, the ladies of the party tending towards tittering and a few light shrieks of unabashed delight, and the men universally roaring with laughter and leaning over to slap Ivan on the back.

“Dude, spill! You packin?”

“That’s must be why he always wears baggy shorts!”

“Mylène! I am absolutely SCANDALIZED that you shared such an… intimate detail!”

“Never say never, you two!”

Ivan was busy choking on his croissant, and self-consciously slipping a pillow across his lap to deflect any probing stares.

 

* * *

 

Alya looked over the gathering and smiled. Perfectly according to plan, even relying on Adrien’s absurd substitute for the baseball metaphor. Mylène and Ivan were obviously an item, so her question hadn’t been _too_ probing, but it was risqué enough that it set the mood to an appropriately flirty level. And they had _rolled with it_ , even better! Everything proceeding apace. Super-Alya, puppet-master.

...Scratch that. The last puppet-master she could think of was five years old. Super-Alya, mastermind. There we go.

“Ivan, come on! Tell us how big it is!” demanded Nino.

“No wait! _Show_ us!” counter-demanded Alix.

“Ah ah ah!” interrupted Alya. “Lay off the _monsieur_ , he hasn't been called on yet! Rules is rules!”

“Mylène, you’re up!” This from Adrien, who’d picked up on Alya’s redirection, in a startling display of social acuity. He didn’t want Ivan to be uncomfortable and he _may_ have had a vested interest in getting at least a little bit titillated by some of his other friends. He smiled and winked at Ivan, who looked a little startled.

 _Hold on, what did I just communicate?_ , thought Adrien. _So much for social acuity._ After a brief moment of eye contact and perplexity, Ivan shifted into looking reassured and relieved. He smiled back, shyly. _Oh okay, good--didn’t sexually harass one of the only people I know._

_Or at least not much._

“Oh! Okay um… Alix! Truth or dare?” asked Mylène.

Alix straightened up from her slouch and sucked on her lip. Performing the Party Calculations in her head, Alya figured her for a dare girl, but probably later on in the night. All dares after, say, midnight.

“Truth. Bring it on.”

Sure enough. Alya took a little sip, according to the rules of her own very private party-organizer drinking game.

“Ah, okay hmm umm… Alix… have you…. ever…..wait. How many… uh… how many boys in the class have you kiiiiissed?”

Alya interjected: “And girls!”

So did Nino: “And WHO!”

Alix, who was probably the coolest person there, barely even managed a blush, and even that wasn’t anywhere near the color of her hair. It might have just been the effects of the wine. Marinette and Adrien, independently, were a little embarrassed at how pink they could get, and how fast. Marinette was stewing at a pretty constant rose, because Alya had _of course_ managed to sit her next to Adrien. She’d had to deal with his proximity by means of a constant rosé. And speaking of a constant Rose, Juleka’s lap.

“Hey that’s three questions!” complained Alix. “Truth or dare ain’t a team sport!”

“Judge?” asked Juleka, looking at Alya over Rose’s head laying on her shoulder. “What’s the verdict?”

“Hmm,” said Alya. “Give us a number, total boys and girls, but save the names for later.”

“Excellent verdict, Alya!” said Rose, snuggling closer to Juleka. “Think of how fun it will be to think about who they are!”

Juleka whispered something in Rose’s ear that made her blush and giggle. She snuggled closer, blue eyes blinking over Juleka’s bust.

Alix shook her head at them. “You dorks. Okay, I’ll bite.”

She drew in a breath and blew it out, absently fiddling with her snake sleeves. “Okay. Don’t make it out to be a bigger thing than it is”--”UNLIKE IVAN!” shouted Nino--”Shut up! But… seven.”

Adrien’s mouth dropped open, and Marinette suppressed a tiny, delighted gasp under her hand.

“AAaa! Alix that's so cool! You've got so much confidence!” Aww, so sweet, Mylène. Alix blushed a little at that. “Were they _French_ kisses!??!”

“You know, in France, we just call those ‘kisses,’” Alix said, a little too fast. Her cheeks had finally turned an appropriate shade of pink, almost matching her messy side-ponytail/half-pigtails. “Also: hey you cheated that was another question!”

“OVERRULED, says Judge Alya!” said Judge Alya.

Alix made a face and blew a raspberry at her. “Okay, okay yer honor, then it’s my turn… and I can’t believe you didn’t ask if it’d been anyone in this rooo-ooom…” She gave an exaggerated wink to Mylène.

Everyone tittered at the suggestion, looking around to see who might have made out with Alix in the past--and who might be added to the roster in the future. Alix gave her competitive little smirk as she watched everyone theorize about her lip-life. Who said tomboys can’t be teases?

(Foutu no one, that’s who)

“So! Rose! Truth or dare!”

Independently, everyone in the little circle wondered why she hadn’t asked Ivan about his junk. Inquiring minds wanted to know. But rules are rules, especially for teen drinking games, somehow, so they turned to Rose.

“Eh!? Nothing!” squealed Rose, pulling her hand out of Juleka’s, and rearranging her shirt. “I mean! Sorry! Eee hee sorry.” She returned her hand to Juleka and went back to leaning on her girlfriend. “Truth, I guess. I’m an open book, Alix, ask away!”

“Okay: If you could hook up with any celebrity, and get away with it, and Juleka wouldn’t be mad, who would it be?”

Alya nodded, satisfied. They were in celeb crush territory, now. Pieces were falling into place. Of course, the answer was a little...

Everyone looked around at each other with “ummm” kind of expressions, but in a surprise move, Juleka was the first to talk.

“Isn’t that...a little obvious?”

“Huh?” asked Alix, as oblivious as Adrien for once.

“I mean not to speak for Rose…” Juleka continued.

“Prince Ali, of course!” completed Rose. “He’s so kind and dreamy! He’s so nice, and he donated all those toys to the hospital, how could anyone _not_ love him?!”

“And yeah I wouldn't be mad,” said Juleka, blushing under her purple streak. “Everyone’s got like, _one_ free pass on a crush that you just have to accept.”

Juleka looked around. People were looking at her much more intently than they normally did (which was not at all). “I mean...right? You.. just kinda have to accept that anyone you love is gonna have some crushes and it’s fine. Right? ...Right? And it’s… if they’re famous you…” She trailed off, embarrassed at her openness to the idea.

Alya happened to agree, and couldn’t resist the opportunity. Plus, there was no need for Juleka to feel awkward about it. It was Teen Sharing Time. .

“Judge Alya speaks! Okay everyone: going around the circle, who’d it be for you? Who would you want for your celebrity freebie? Rose, your is Prince Ali (fabulous he); Juleka, start us off!”

Juleka blushed hard. Her tender gothling sensibilities weren’t used to being under this much scrutiny. She mumbled something.

Rose poked her to get her to speak up. Juleka mumbled some more, eliciting more pokes and a hand-squeeze. “Come on, Juleka! It’s not that bad!”

Juleka’s visible eye got very wide and she looked a little scared, but she squeezed Rose’s hand back and hunkered down a little into her nest of pillows. Marinette flashed her a broad grin and two thumbs-up. Juleka took a deep breath and closed her eyes, covering her face with her Rose-free hand, before answering:

“Mads Mikkelsen! I can’t help it! He’s so handsome and scary and like fifty years old and I’m so gay! But he’s a perfect beautiful human and he was in Hannibal and it was so creepy and I can’t stop looking at pictures of him!”

Everyone made little cooing noises and pushed in towards Juleka, offering their support. “It’s fine Juleka!” “He’s _very_ handsome!” “I’m into him, too! Kind of.” “Who ISN’T!” “Well, sure, okay.” “Such a good actor” “We still love you, Juleka!” “ _I_ still love you, you know that!”, the last being from Rose.

Rose leaned against her tall girlfriend and squeezed her hand. It’s a little odd to be proud of one’s partner’s crush on someone else, but more than anything, Rose could be proud that Juleka was sharing. Juleka had a long history of being quieter than anyone in class, maybe quieter than anyone in the school (or commune, or nation, or planet). It was a big thing, to come out of your shell, even a little. It was a bigger thing to admit that you’d fantasized about a hunk of Danish man-meat famous for playing an eerie serial killer, when you’re otherwise deeply sapphic, and a rational human being. So: she was proud of Juleka.

Mylène was next on the block.

“Okay, don’t make fun of me but…” she started. Ivan patted her hand.

 _Apparently everyone had already had this conversation,_ thought Marinette _. Is that just what happens when you’re in a relationship? Do you just… know? Do you talk about it? Well, I’m not in a relationship (with anyone who knows it, I guess…)_

 _Wait… oh wait… if we’re confessing celebrity crushes… and my only crush is_ on _a celebrity…  oh no._

Marinette whipped her face around to Alya. Alya, of course, had been expecting her look of panic and betrayal since she’d made the suggestion. She had been ready, beaming a smile and a thumbs-up to her hyperventilating friend. She mouthed the words “I believe in you.”

For her part, Marinette buried her face in her hands, enjoying her last moments of being alive and feeling something other than shame and abashedness. She still kept an ear out to listen, though, of course.

Mylène continued. “I guess I have a type… uh… well... it’s Dwayne Johnson. The Rock. He’s so big and strong! Just think about it! Ahhh, he’d scoop me up and…” Here she dissolved into an embarrassed set of mumbles delivered directly into Ivan’s chest. He put a huge and comforting hand on her back, and shrugged to the rest of the party.

“I like being her type.” Aww!

“Excellent choice, Mylène!” said Alix, who had always been one for the athletic types. “I bet Kim and Max would agree, to be honest!” She punched Ivan in the arm. “Nothing wrong with the big boys, huh?” Ivan leaned over to bonk her with his shoulder, smiling.

Ivan continued with his own confession, and Alix picked herself up from where the big guy’s shoulder-bonk had knocked her.

“For me, I think it would be… Ellen Page. Dumb, I know.” Rose and Juleka, still entwined with each other, both gave an understanding, dreamy nod.

“She’s a runner up, maybe…” added Juleka.

“I mean she wouldn’t be interested in a guy, let alone a guy like me…”

“Oh Ivan! That’s not the point at all!” blurted Marinette, snapping her head out from her hands. With a little peep of surprise at her own outburst, she continued. “It’s a _crush_ , that’s the point! You can’t help who you like, or who you love!”

Alya elbowed her hard in the ribs.

“SO TRUE, Marinette, SO TRUE.” And in an instant, she was back to bright red.

Suppressing a laugh under his beefy hand, Ivan beamed at Marinette and stage-whispered to her: “Stay positive!”

 _The Coeur du Pierre event might not have been Ladybug’s finest moment, but at least it turned out okay for Ivan,_ thought Marinette. _But the least he could do would not be to use my own words against me, you_ fiend!

She scowled at him, gently, but her heart wasn't in it, so she downshifted to a pout. Ivan laughed and messed up Alix’s hair with one expert sweep of his hand. She was next.

“Okay so don’t laugh.”

“Rule number 4 forbids laughing! At least laughing hard. We are cool support teens, no Chloes,” said Alya. “Judgment-free zone! Which I will _caution you to remember_ once it gets to me.”

“Okay! Fine! Aziz Ansari.”

…

“ _Aziz Ansari_?”

“Hey don’t laugh! I like funny men! Men who are funny!”

“I can see it!” said Rose. “He’s got that big, goofy smile, and I’m sure he’s very gentle and kind!”

“Wait for it…” mumbled Juleka.

“...Just like my Prince Ali! Oh, Prince Ali, prince of my heart, never would I abandon you…”

Rose continued to mumble into Juleka’s bust, while the tall girl passed down a steady stream of handkerchiefs and tissues to the suddenly-overwhelmed Rose.

Eventually, Rose recovered enough to continue. She was _aggressively_ into Prince Ali. But Juleka was a rock; a gay, goth rock who loved her and stroked her hair every time she thought about puppies, or Prince Ali, or their relationship, or any number of things, and became suddenly, adorably, weepy.

From her place muffled in Juleka’s chest, Rose pointed at Nino. “You’re next! Ignore me! I’m fine!”

Nino squared his cap and braced his hands on his knees. He closed his eyes, centered himself with a deep breath, and answered.

“Daft Punk,” his eyes snapped open and he held up two fingers. “BOTH of them! No compromise.”

Peals of laughter erupted.

“What? I appreciate them aesthetically! Plus they’re French!”

More laughter. Nino got more flustered. “Hey don’t kinkshame me!”

“Nino, you immense dork, I cannot believe you would gay it up for two _robot DJs_!” said Alya, holding her sides at her sorta-boyfriend’s confession. “You don’t even know what they _look like!_ ”

“Looks aren’t everything, Cesare! They are _artists_ and I will _never_ regret a night of passion with them.”

“Would you… at least take the robot masks off?” asked Adrien. This was a side of Nino he hadn’t really seen before--he thought Nino was mostly into Marinette- or Alya-shaped people. _Can you even...do...things...with a robot?_

_...Maybe that’s what Plagg had meant about turning off SafeSearch..._

“ABSOLUTELY NOT. Masks stay on. It’s the _persona_ of Daft Punk, Adrien! It's like Batman, they’re a symbol!”

“A symbol that you’re horny for music, maybe,” offered Ivan.

“Guilty as charged. Okay, Fearless Leader. Who's your freebie? Who’s gonna replace your DJ Jaw Power here?”

Alya was, in a rare display, nervous. Marinette wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it--and she’d had a face-to-face interview with her before, as Ladybug. She sucked in her lips in anticipation and widened her eyes, studying every inch of Alya's suddenly slightly less sassy face. She took an anticipatory swig of her wine, having finished the champagne already.

“Okay--same rules, don’t judge me--it’s…”

The room breathed in a collective breath.

“It’s….”

The room prepared to be absolutely _scandalized_ by Alya’s confession.

“...Gordon Ramsey.”

Confusion reigned.

“Gordon _Ramsey?_ ”

“The TV chef?”

“The old, kinda _gross_ TV chef?”

“Step off my man, you.”

“He’s like 50 and Scottish!”

“I kinkshame thee.”

“Alya, whoa, explain!”

“Yeah Alya,” reinforced Nino. “I gotta know why Mr. Kitchen Nightmares is stealing my woman!”

“I’m no one’s woman but my _own_ , robosexual,” retorted Alya, poking him in the nose hard enough that she almost pushed him off his pillow.

“It’s just… he’s so _loud_ and _powerful_ and my mom’s a _chef_ and cooking shows are _always on_ and it _got into my head I can't help it!_ ”

“Alya. Alya,” Marinette cooed, wrapping her arms around her. “We accept you. We accept your weird old chef fetish.”

Alya, under Marinette’s gentle pats, blushed. Collectively, the party bit their knuckles and blinked. No one had ever gotten close to seeing Alya blush, and it was _Marinette_ trolling her that finally did it. Move over Arc de Triomphe, Paris needs a new historical monument.

“Shhh, girl,” said Marinette. “We are your friends and we accept your love for a wrinkly old haggis man who will yell at your tender uncooked leg of lamb or whatever. Shh. You are loved here.” She drew the beflanneled journalist even closer, and stage whispered in her ear. “ You degenerate chef- _foutreuse_.”

Alya made a strangled noise of protest. But Marinette had become intimate confidantes with the personification of Wine, and she was not done. She continued, holding Alya immobile and helpless:

“After a heartfelt confession like that, I bet you feel like your emotions are...  bloody raw, you donkey.”

Teens laughed as Alya blushed even harder, and no one laughed with as much intense surprise and shock as Adrien. He had never heard Marinette sass _anyone_ like that before. It was a thing of beauty. He sipped his paper cup of champagne. _Wow, alcohol is_ great _!_ _There’s no way she’d be like this at school!_

Everyone else, of course, knew that Marinette was half cupcake, half spark plug. But they had never _ever_ seen her make Alya blush. Pastryfest 201X was world-historic in its own right  just because of that.

On Alya’s other side, Nino leaned in, embracing an embarrassed Alya. He pressed his lips to her, so close he was caressing her ear as he whispered a sweet nothing:

“I’m gonna hold two slices of bread on either side of your head and say ‘What are you?’ And you’re gonna say ‘a pervert sandwich.’”

Alya pushed him off with a cackle and twisted his nipple through his shirt. Girl was dangerous. Nino shrieked in an embarrassingly high register and pushed his iced screwdriver into his abused nib. “See if I give you the Nino Treatment tonight, _cherie_!”

“You love it, don’t even try to lie.”

Eyebrows were raised.

Nino, however, was a master of deflection.  
  
“Hey, it’s Marinette’s turn, right?

 

* * *

 

Marinette was a combination of extremely embarrassed and highly entertained at learning so much about her classmates’ various interests--nay, _predilections_. Not to mention absolutely _savage_ when it came to Alya’s confession. She was, of course, _highly_ _motivated_ to find out about Adrien’s crush. But he was last in the order, right after her.

“Well Marinette?” asked Alya. “Whooooo’s your celeb freebie _foutre_?” Her eyebrows were doing a rapid up-and-down flutter. Knowing. _Mocking_.

Marinette felt like she’d turned all of the red wine she drank into blood, and then put all that blood into her face, and then all that blood decided to emit photons at a dangerous rate. Alya knew _very well_ who her celebrity crush is, but he just so happened to be sitting _directly next to her_ and she couldn’t exactly _admit that out loud_. She sighed, looking back through time over the glorious moments where she had learned about her friends’ crushes, those halcyon minutes, before she would now have to explode into a billion motes of shameful quintessence.

She looked over at Alya, who gave her a very slow, very sly wink over the rim of her glasses.

_Delaying tactics? Delaying tactics. Do not go gently, etc._

“Um! Uh… can I… take a drink instead?”

Outrage. Everyone else had to confess. Marinette could feel her heart beating a steady tattoo on the inside of her arteries. Her sewing machine had fewer RPM than she currently felt. Involuntarily, her mouth stretched into a broad, awkward smile, and she found herself nervously humming laughter.

“Judge Alya speaketh: Marinette must confess. It is the law of the land.”

“It’s my land, though! I live here!”

“Confess! Confess! Confess! Confess!” Everyone joined in the chant, even the generally very peaceable Juleka, and very polite Adrien. No getting out of this one. Marinette wished, for a second, that she could consult with Tikki or just transform into Ladybug to avoid having to declare her undying passion for one Adrien Agreste, who was sitting right _there_ looking all--

Wait a minute. Ladybug. Superheroes.

“Ladybug!”

“Fight me,” blurted Adrien, unable to stop himself.

“Huh?” asked Ivan. Adrien had earned quite a look from the sizeable metalhead and a few others. But Marinette wasn’t finished; she was still stuttering out her answer.

“I mean...Chat Noir!... I mean...Ladybug _and_ Chat Noir?”  Marinette clapped her hands over her mouth, look her peers with wide blue eyes, before dropping her gaze and examining, in exquisite detail, the stitching on the hem of her shirt. Adrien’s exclamation had been thoroughly forgotten in light of this revelation.

 _Why did I just do that, why did I say I liked Ladybug and Chat Noir, oh_ mon dieu _, I will never live this down they think I’m some weird superhero groupie pervert and they’ll all leave and never want to see me again and--_

Meanwhile, in his own head, Adrien was asking himself similar questions. _Oh no I just said I’d fight Marinette because she has a crush on Ladybug I will never live this down I’m going to die cold and alone they’re going to--_

The loft breathed in a collective gasp, before breaking down into helpless giggles. “Yeah, girl!” they said. “Didn’t know you had it in you!” they said. “Of course,” they said. “ _Everyone_ has a crush on Ladybug,” they said.

“E-everyone?” asked Marinette. This was news. And not nearly as bad of news as she’d feared. Kind of… really good news.

Adrien, of course, was a little bit startled. But a _lot_ bit glad they ignored his outburst.

“Yeah girl, it barely counts! Ladybug has personally swept all of us off of our feet at some point or another! I am being as literal as possible, too,” said Nino. “I mean Daft Punk is still number 1, but if had two freebies, I’d totally put Ladybug. Chat Noir can be, like, number five.”

Everyone went around talking about how great Ladybug and Chat Noir were, and how it was like having a crush on the Eiffel Tower, and how Ladybug’s suit didn’t even have a zipper and how _would_ you even, and how a superhero crush barely counted. But they decided to let it stand anyway. The will of Judge Alya is firm, but fair.

Marinette was so flustered by the reception that she barely noticed that Adrien hadn’t contributed--her confession had taken enough focus that she’d entirely glossed over his bellicose exclamation. Adrien, of course, was still busy being startled.

 _Marinette is into Ladybug and Chat Noir? Into Ladybug and_ me _?_ He thought _. She must be a way bigger fan than I ever knew..._

Immediately followed by, _I should talk to Marinette about how great Ladybug is, because she’s so right_.

To which his blood alcohol content added, _I wonder if Ladybug would be into that_...

Alya, on Marinette’s other side, jabbed her with an elbow. “Nice save, _chieeeeeennne_.”

“You’re the _chienne_!” whispered Marinette, frantically. “I can’t believe you!”

“I'm just an innocent little red headed Cupid over here, Marinette! Can’t believe _you_ lying to us all like that!”

Marinette blushed. She was the only person in the room besides Tikki who knew how intimate she could get with Ladybug. Usually, thinking of a certain _other_ local Paris celebrity who happened to be a blonde teen model who shall remain nameless and also present in the room with her right now.

“Well… I wasn’t actually lying at all, you know…”

 _Except about Chat Noir_ , she thought to herself, before the wine part of her thoughts corrected her. _Well…_ maybe _except about Chat Noir. I bet his puns get funnier when I’m drunk, at least…_

Alya’s delighted expression brought some heat to Marinette’s face again, and brought a smile to her lips. “Didn’t know you were such a freak, sweet thing! Both of them, huh?” Marinette poked her. But she also nodded.

Zut alors _, wine, you’ve got to stop making me admit things to my friends like this. Also to myself._

“So Adrien! Last of the round! Who’s your celeb fling?” Nino steepled his fingers under his chin, and gave Adrien his best inquisitorial stare. He had been focused on Marinette--the Animan event all over again--and hadn’t noticed Adrien’s impromptu confession.

“Well I…”

“Some model, right? Some sexy cover girl? That barely counts, man! You totally have a chance, sexy man like you.”

“Hey come on, give me a chance here! I was gonna say…” He screwed up his face and scratched behind his ear before looking right at Marinette. _Honesty is the best policy, right? For everyone except your parents. And for almost all topics except magic ones._

“...fight me,” he confessed in a whisper.

“What was that?”

“Um… I might have to fight Marinette for Ladybug.”

Two cacophonies erupted: one among the classmates in the room, as they roared even louder for this confession than for any other, and a separate, even more intense cacophony inside Marinette, as she realized that _her_ celebrity crush had _her_ as a celebrity crush. Sort of. Close enough.

Once again the wine she’d had seemed like it was going to make a very embarrassing choice of words for her. But of course, all she had to do was not say them and--

“Well wh-why fight when we can sh-share?” mumbled Marinette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sin seeds planted.


	5. In Which There Are Dares And Marinette Learns some Slang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several additional dares are deployed, and a very pertinent question about Ivan is finally answered. The French language is abused for the sake of English idioms. Nino reveals the magic. Alix is unprepared for a certain task. Marinette gets embarrassed. Adrien gets drunk enough to make two actual jokes. Papillon is roundly mocked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to apologize in advance for all of the euphemisms I will be deploying in this chapter.

 

_“Um… I might have to fight Marinette for Ladybug.”_

_Two cacophonies erupted: one among the classmates in the room, as they roared even louder for this confession than for any other, and a separate, even more intense cacophony inside Marinette, as she realized that her celebrity crush had her as a celebrity crush. Sort of._

_Once again the wine she’d had seemed like it was going to make a very embarrassing choice of words for her. But of course, all she had to do was not say them and--_

_“Well wh-why fight when we can sh-share?” mumbled Marinette._

 

* * *

 

_Foutre du mere, brain, foutre du mere, wine_ , thought Marinette, immediately mortified. She couldn't see herself, but she imagined her face rapidly galloping between extremes of bone-white and beet-red.

Alya’s mouth dropped open in an uppercase D of surprise and delight as she shoved Marinette (coincidentally pushing her a _tiiiiny_ bit onto Adrien). “GET IT GIRL YEAH SET IT UP!”

Adrien, as he often did, caught her. She looked up into his very green eyes and saw him smiling with every part of his perfect face.

“That sounds… pretty good.” He said.

Marinette and Adrien froze, realizing what Adrien’s playful retort might entail.

_Omigod did he…_ thought Marinette.

_Omigod did I…_ thought Adrien.

_Just say I’d be down with a_ menage a trois _!?!?_ They thought, together, with the same level of blushing intensity.

Thankfully, the circle had devolved into an unmoderated mess of teens laughing at each other, so only Alya had really heard Marinette and Adrien’s latest exchange. And she was gleefully holding in her commentary. Cheshire cats had nothing on Alya’s grin.

Marinette and Adrien both started stammering excuses and clarifications at once, several times, stumbling over each other’s words and their own.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything I just--”

“No I didn't think you meant to I not uncomfortable everything is fine--”

“--and here I am your guest and i didn't mean to make it weird--”

“--Seriously I know you’re just joking because you’re _Adrien_ and--”

“--but you’re a sweet girl and you don’t need --”

“--couldn’t with a girl like me I know and--”

“--didn’t mean to make it a _thing_ about Ladybug--”

“--HA HA yes Ladybug yep, her!--”

Even Alya, the poster child for Marinette’s awkward-situation schadenfreude, couldn’t handle the maelstrom of hormones sitting next to her for long. She needed more _sexual tension_ not _embarrassed flailing_. The game needs must be afoot.

“Attention, my little perverts! No one here is drunk enough to quit yet, and it’s Rose’s turn! Rose, who are you going to ask?”

“Oh!” said Rose. “Truth!”

Juleka whispered something in her ear.

“AH! Thank you, Juleka! Um… Juleka! Truth or Dare.”

“Truth?”

“Do you looooove--”

“NO ASKING IF SHE LOVES YOU!”

“Alya! How did you know?” Both Rose and Juleka, hanging from each others arms, millimeters away from each other at most, stared at Alya like she’d transformed into Ladybug, startled by her level of insight.

“You two are too cute. Seriously. NON-OBVIOUS truths, only! We have established that! Alya declares that you may change the object of your Truth or Dare if you so choose.”

Rose screwed up her face in intense concentration. Everyone knew that she and Juleka were a teensy bit obsessed with each other (at least), and she took some time to drag herself away from Juleka’s face by degrees.

“Okay. Okay! Yes, I must ask: Nino! Truth or Dare?”

_Mon Dieu_ , thought Alya. _When will anyone get to the important stuff? Like the size of Ivan’s_ saucisse du coq _?_

_Pervert_ , Alya also thought to herself, about herself.

“Hey I ain’t drunk enough yet! I’ll stick with truth, bro. Lady-bro.”

“I know just what to ask! Nino! What music do you put on when you get rrrrromantic?” Rose blink-blink-blinked her ludicrously blue eyes.

“Ah _cher_ Rose! Such a romantic. I have a whole playlist…” he looked askance at Alya. Trying decide how to spin this...

“Well, believe it or not, um… it’s a lot of Daft Punk…”

Uproar. Alya slapped him on the back of the head, almost knocking his hat off, as she squealed in glee.

“Oh you slut! Playing your boyfriends’ music to me when you’re trying to start the Reign of Terror! You cad!” Alya was playfully beating Nino about the head and shoulders with a pillow, as he desperately tried to keep his hat on his head. The man had a style to uphold, after all.

“Careful, Alya! Nino’s got a hard head and I’m sure Marinette doesn’t want you busting her pillow on it.” Adrien said, giving Marinette’s shoulder a little squeeze. She squeaked and jumped, biting off her Nino-directed laugh as she felt his hand on her. Her core temperature warmed by orders of magnitude. She practically vibrated in place; if there hadn’t been a pillow, she might have started to drill down into the living room from nervous energy shakes alone.

The only thing that kept her attention somewhere other than the lingering feeling of Adrien’s fingers on her shoulder was the possibility of getting vital, critical, essential information she could use on Adrien. If Nino could tempt Alya with his mix, well, then...

Nino was going into greater detail about his playlist, and Marinette stitched detailed and informative notes into her mind with the precision and finesse of a master seamstress. His secret Romance Sounds were now _hers_ , and she was cataloguing _any_ advantage she could get with Adrien. From the corner of her eye, she noticed the aforementioned model listening quite intently, as well. With a sigh, she allowed herself (inasmuch as she never could stop herself) a brief fantasy of her and Adrien trying to seduce each other with identical playlists.

_Some day,_ she thought, wistfully.

“Ivan! Truth or dare!” Nino’s command startled Marinette out of her reverie.

Ivan looked a little worried but... “Dare.”

_Brave boy!_ Alya gave him a smirk, certain where Nino was going to go with this.

Nino, who in his heart was as much of a pervert as Alya, gave her a wink back.

“Prove it.”

“Huh?”

“Mylène said you may have been a little too...well equipped for certain things. I’m sayin’ _prove it_.”

Ivan turned as pale as his tuft, clearly not expecting that he’d be the object of attention like this. The poor fool. The rest of the audience had been anticipating this revelation with barely-restrained glee.

“I-van! I-van! I-van!” The chant started quietly, a gentle peer-pressure thrum, boring its way into Ivan’s subconscious.  

“Come on, man! Just pretend you’re in the Louvre, it’s art!”

“It sure is!” interjected Mylène.

_Thirsty girl_ , thought Alya. _Maybe even more than Marinette…_

_...Nah, no way._

“Okay uh… just give me a drink first.” Mylène passed him a cup full of something opaque, and he slugged it in one shot.

Mylène leaned over to stage whisper in his ear: “Just take out enough to impress them.”

Scandalized giggles erupted from the circle, and Marinette noticed that everyone was surprisingly into it. Even Ivan had a little smirk as he stood up.

“Just a second,” he said. He was blushing now, no longer pale.

_That’s good, at least_! thought Marinette. Everyone was on the edge of their pillows--damn. Ivan’s _serpent de pantalon_ was way more popular than she’d thought it would be. Probably more than _Ivan_ ever thought it would be.

No one had noticed, when Mylène had leaned over to Ivan, that she’d passed him something balled up in her hand. When Ivan turned back around, after a bit of fumbling, it became very clear what she’d passed him.

Ivan turned around, swinging a long--and full--tube sock from the front of his shorts. The sock was light pink with purple flowers, and thin material, almost a little bit sheer, and it wasn’t rolled down all the way onto Little Ivan. But it was rolled down a considerable amount. And it was clearly Mylène’s sock.

And Mylène had been wearing knee-highs.

Mylène blushed, as everyone else gaped at Ivan’s monstrous appendage. Ivan chuckled nervously, darting his eyes around the room as if not sure if he’d seriously foutre’d up or not. His thoughts were almost legible on his features. _Come on, man. Say good stuff about my dick._

Nino, the original challenger, broke the awkward silence.

He broke it with slow, deliberate applause.

“Damn, Ivan! Mylène wasn’t kidding!”

“Marinette, are you missing a baguette anywhere? Cuz I think I see a foot-long in Ivan’s pants!”

“Dude did you just call it a fuck-long?”

“No dude, and that pun only makes sense if you’re good at English and French.”

“Isn’t that pun from Shakespeare?”

“Adrien, you nerd.”

“Ivan you tricky dick, I can’t believe you socked yourself up before showing us!”

Marinette and Rose were, predictably, giggling behind their hands, but Juleka of all people had joined Alix and Alya in giving Ivan’s member impressed, approving glances.

To clarify: everyone was impressed; those three were just _extra_ impressed.

“Judge Alya says that the dare stands! Ivan, you successfully trolled us, maintained your virtue, _and_ proved that Mylène wasn’t even close to exaggerating.”

“Of course not! I love Ivan but that thing is scary!”

“Sorry Mylène…”

“Okay loverboy!” said Nino. “Put it away! Making the rest of us feel inadequate!”

“Speak for yourself,” said Adrien, and Marinette mentally slipped a nitroglycerine pill under her tongue to stop the heart attack she felt like she was about to have.

It didn’t help. Nitroglycerine being what it is, she felt like her mental metaphors triggered an explosion in her body, rather than calmed an uncontrollable organ.

And speaking of uncontrollable organs...

Mylène reached over and gave the end of her (now Ivan’s) sock a tug, pulling it halfway off. A renewed round of squeals burst forth as the room got a glimpse of the back half of Ivan’s comically large Tour d’Eiffel.

“Mylène!” Ivan spun around and reeled himself in, before passing Mylène’s sock back to her.

“Ivan, you have seriously won the right to the next truth or dare! Who’s it going to be?” Alya, taking charge again.

Alix had turned to regard Ivan.

“I can’t believe Myene’s tug got you halfway off!” Ivan blushed red as the entendre worked its way through his mind. “I mean,” said Alix with a smug grin, “the _sock_ halfway off.”

“Okay you little pervert! Truth or Dare?”

“Dare!”

_Good_ , thought Alya. _Alix doesn’t get showed up once dares get on the scene._

_But just to grease the wheels..._

“Attention, party people. We will now take a brief intermission for everyone to take a shot. So speaketh the not-drunk-enough Alya.”

Rose, who was rapidly thieving Marinette’s hosting duties, fluttered around with beverages. When everyone was suitably equipped, Alya proposed a toast:

“Friends: to Pastryfest. May Marinette’s loft get us thoroughly ridiculous.”

_“À la vôtre!_ ”

Nine cups upended, and nine teenagers got a little more twisty. For once, during the night, Marinette was blushing in her capacity as hostess, rather than enamored schoolgirl.

_You know, wine,_ thought Marinette _. You betrayed me, but I forgive you. You’re so good to me and my friends. I love you, wine._

Meanwhile, Adrien was also thinking to himself _: Wow! This is what it feels like to have fun on a weekend!_

Once the cheering for Marinette died down and everyone was suitably provisioned with further beverages, Ivan picked up where he left off, mid-dare for  Alix.

“I dare you to take off your panties and keep them off for the rest of the night!”

_Oh Ivan, so bold!_ Alya felt like a sexy spider spinning a sexy web of teen sexual tension. She felt every tiny vibration on every thread, and they all danced to her sexy, sexy, Alya tune. A tune which she now realized included quite a bit of Daft Punk…. _Dammit Nino,_ she thought to herself, giving a small, sly smile. But back to the party as a whole…

Eventually, there’d be enough ambient teen sex vapor in the air that Marinette would manage to drag Adrien into a corner and finally make an honest woman of herself. She spared a playful squeeze for Nino’s backside. _And in the meantime I’ll treat myself to a certain DJ turning_ my _tables_.

She didn’t have time to ponder how bad of an innuendo that was, though, because Alix had gotten _significantly_ pink.

“I… can’t actually do that.”

“Refusing the dare? I am aghast, Kubdel!” Nino pressed the fingers of his left hand to his O of a mouth. His right was still absorbed in Alya’s. “Aghast, I say!”

“I mean I would if I could! But I’m actually… not… wearing panties?” Alix squeezed out through gritted teeth. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides, and she shrunk innocent herself, slightly, crossing her legs to deflect probing stares.

“Oh la la! Got big plans for the night, squirt?” asked Ivan. “Mee-yow!”

“Leave the cat chat to Chat Noir, Nino, don’t debase yourself,” said Marinette.

“Yeah, I’m with Marinette,” added Adrien, unable to help himself, and involuntarily stopping Marinette’s heart with his phrasing. _I’m with Marinette. Say it again, my Adonis._ “You have to _catnip_ it in the bud!”

Marinette eyes rolled up into her head and fell she backwards onto a secondary pillow. Alya had placed it there to absorb the shock of any Adrien-related fainting, but she hadn’t necessarily planned on Marinette’s exasperation at cat puns to intrude. Lucky, regardless.

“I loved you, once…” Marinette whispered to herself.

“What was that?” Adrien glanced down at her, _merde-_ eating grin on his face. Still beautiful, even if he made the same damn puns that Chat Noir made...

“NOTHING I DIDN’T MEAN IT!” She immediately focused on the first part of his interjection again: _Yeah, I’m with Marinette._ Involuntarily, her groan turned into a hum of satisfaction. _Yessss be with me my golden boy._

On the other side of the circle, everyone was all questions for Alix, and her suddenly-revealed commando-going.

Speculations were wild: “I’m surprised you’re that bashful, Alix!” “Are you on your period? We’re all adults here, kind of.” “What happens when you deny a dare, though?”

She waved them all off with a flapping of tiny aggressive hands. “I biked over here! You don’t wear underwear with bike shorts!”

Trust Alix to wear racing gear to a party. This situation _clearly_ required the intervention of Alya.

“Alya! I can’t do the dare, what happens? Can I get another dare?”

Alya, eternal perv and wingwoman extraordinaire, put on her best pondering face. She stroked her chin and closed her eyes, deep in thought, relishing the power dynamic of manipulating the little threads of teen hormones that connected everyone in the room.

“So: the dare stands, as I’m going to define Ivan’s intention for ‘panties’ to be ‘the clothing that’s right up on your Fave Business.’ Since Truth or Dare Plus says you gotta strip something off if you don’t want to do a dare, it looks like you’re losing a little bit of cloth, _ma petite_!”

Alix pulled a blanket up over her hips, aware that she was getting a little more attention than usual to a certain anatomical region. And crossing her legs wasn't cutting it. She crossed her arms and considered whether she wanted everyone to get a peek at her _chatte rose_.

Well, a peek might be a bit too much, but maybe two peaks would work...

“Okay, here we go.”

She sat up and reached behind herself, fiddling with something for a second before bringing her hands back up to her shoulders and reaching into her shirt collar. Very carefully, she pushed her bra straps down her arms and over each of her hands, all the while keeping herself from turning into a Lycra-clad painting of the French Revolution. Successfully disentangled, she reached under the hem of her shirt and whipped out her bra. The entire process took place in a remarkably short period of time, and maintained her virtuous modesty... while still, of course, giving everyone a bit of a show. A true tease, she was a bit more pert, a bit more at-attention, than she had been with her bra on. Two peaks indeed.

The garment she had shed was a neon-green semi-sports bra, with enough compression strength to keep the goods from bludgeoning each other or their landlady mid-exertion. It had a good amount of elastic, so when she stretched it out and popped it directly at Ivan’s face, it made a satisfying _slap_.

“Alix has solidly trolled us all with the letter of the law!” declared Alya. “The Court of Alya is pleased, but demands a one-minute recess for everyone to take another drink.”

They complied. Alix continued:

“Marinette, I know you’re our gracious host but--truth or dare?”

True to form, Marinette had been gazing longingly at Adrien, and hadn’t been paying as much attention to the proceedings. She shook herself and successfully prevented Adrien from noticing her gaze. She thought.

“Um… truth!” she said, crossing her fingers that it wouldn’t be anything too… incriminating. In whatever way it could be incriminating. There was always forfeiting for wine, at least…

“I just have to know how many times a week our sweet and adorable class president usually polishes her miraculous bijou.”

“EH? What?! I don’t! I never! I don't have a miraculous bijou! No bijous here, ha ha nope!” Marinette felt herself start to sweat. How did they know about her Miraculous Bijou? She’d been so careful! Where was Tikki? Did they see her?

“Come on, girl!” said Alya. “Don’t lie! We all know you grind your bijou like a damn lapidary, everyone does it!”

“Yeah,” added Mylène. “Everyone has to flick their bean every once in awhile.” Alix and Juleka nodded.

“Wha--bean? Bijou? But I seriously don’t--”

“Yeah, you know. Bonk the love mollusk,” added Juleka.

“It’s perfectly natural, Marinette! It’s the most precious part of you, and it’s good to take care of it, even by yourself!” said Rose.

“ _Chienne_ , we’ve showered together and this is France, you know what a clitoris is.”

Adrien, who also had a pretty specific mental definition of what a ‘miraculous bijou’ was, had discovered that his eyes could become the size of green softballs with remarkable speed.

Slowly, both Adrien and Marinette realized that they weren’t talking about magical jewels related to their alter egos, but slang for--

“The clitoris?!?”

“Marinette, don’t look so shocked! You’d never heard that phrase? Damn. I figured everyone had by now.”

“That's like, really basic slang,” said Ivan. “Mylène told me months back.”

“Yeah don’t you remember how everyone made fun of the Papillon for _months_ when he announced that he wanted to steal a teenage superheroine’s _miraculous bijou_? We thought was a going around creating supervillains to be a clit thief!” Alix cackled at the memory. “It was hilarious!”

The gears worked in Marinette’s head, as her face temporarily froze in a perplexed, slack-jawed rictus.

“I… I never connected that…” steadily, the pressure built, as she realized that for the last couple months, her nemesis had been (inadvertently?) _demanding that supervillains thieve her love-bean_. It was too absurd for words.

Soundlessly next to her, Adrien was experiencing a similar level of shock, but was also concealing a sudden, aggressive Agrection. Ergresteon. Adriection. Erection. _Why can’t I even think of words right?!_

It was too much for Marinette, suddenly, and she exploded into laughter.

“The Papillon has seriously been after Ladybug’s little… ladybug, for all this time!?!?” The absurdity of imagining the Papillon as less a butterfly-themed emotion-manipulating mastermind, and more of a purple-themed pervert completely floored her.

“Damn, girl. I had no idea this would be such a shock,” said Alix. “I just wanted to know how many times a day you play with yourself!”

“Uh yeah we… all kinda want to know…” added Ivan, sheepishly. Mylène playfully swatted him, but from her expression, she wanted to know, too. Her eyebrows were raised, anticipating some sordid detail or another.

“Oh. Oh wow. Ohhhh wow sorry. I just… it never occurred to me! How did that never occur to me, I’m a cool teen and I know teen stuff!” said Marinette. “I’m hip!”

“You’re a DORK, now confess how often you ride the Dupain-Cheng train to O-town!” Alya would not be denied.

“Con-fess! Con-fess! Con-fess!” What was with her classmates and chanting?

As the absurdity filtered away, Marinette became intensely aware that she would have to admit to how often she masturbated, sitting next to the (well, _a) reason_ she masturbated that often. And she became flustered for an entirely non-miraculous reason.

_Good thing I’ve got the option to drink, instead of answer_ , she thought, remembering the rules of Truth, Dare, Drink, or Strip. _I can always just reach down, grab my beverage and--_

“Probably five times a day, more on the weekends.”

\-- _be extremely and unnecessarily honest_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for anyone who got the Achewood reference.
> 
> And I would like to seriously thank you all so much for your comments and kudos! It's really great to get such good feedback. I love and admire you all.


	6. In Which Marinette Gets Thirsty, Etc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's confession is a source of constant entertainment. Some additional dares are made, and some clothing is removed in the process. Adrien talks his way out of a very specific truth. Everyone has the same ideas about pre-gaming. Adrien gets to kinkshame everyone except Marinette. Marinette then proves that she should have been the one to get kinkshamed. Daft Punk starts playing in Nino's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on out, there's going to be a bit of a sin spike, but the roots of this dumb fic are all farce, all the time.
> 
> I really appreciate everyone's kind words! Y'all are the best.

 

_ “You’re a DORK, now confess how often you ride the Dupain-Cheng train to O-town!” _

_ “Con-fess! Con-fess! Con-fess!” What was with her classmates and chanting? _

_ As the absurdity filtered away, Marinette became intensely aware that she would have to admit to how often she masturbated, sitting next to the reason she masturbated that often. And she became flustered for an entirely non-miraculous reason. _

_ Good thing I’ve got the option to drink, instead of answer, she thought, remembering the rules of Truth, Dare, Drink, or Strip. I can always just reach down, grab my beverage and-- _

_ “Probably five times a day, more on the weekends.” _

**\--be extremely and unnecessarily honest** **_._ **

 

* * *

 

As Marinette realized what she’d just confessed, and how absolutely _betrayed_ she had just been by her friend and confidante, cheap red wine, she snatched the nearest bottle of Merlot and upended it into her mouth. _Purely for the flavor,_ she thought. _Definitely not to hide my face,_ she thought _._ _And definitely absolutely not to become brave enough to ever show my face to anyone ever again._

When she lowered the bottle, everyone was staring at her, jaws slack. In the silence, she could only hear her own heart beating at a painfully high rate, with a thunderously loud volume. 

She started to say something a few times, opening her mouth and almost forming words, before the stares of her classmates silenced her. 

It took too long for someone to break the silence.

Alya did so, with a slow, deliberate clap.

“Holy shit, Marinette,” said Alya. 

“Alya! I don’t think it demands swearing in  _ English _ , of all things!” said Rose, aghast. 

But her comment was unheard. Alya was impressed. More impressed than she’d been by anyone but Ladybug--both at Marinette’s capacity for thirst and for her capacity for  _ thirst _ . She had never expected the  _ scale _ of Marinette’s personal care schedule.

“I… uh…” started Marinette, a few times. She was still not sure what this reaction meant. Were they just surprised she’d actually told them? “Is that…”

“ _ Merde _ . I am really, really impressed,” said Alix. “I never miss a day and I figured I’d be way ahead of everyone.”

“What?” Marinette must have heard her wrong. Never miss a day?

“I don’t think I’ve ever done more than, maybe, three times in a day,” said Rose. “And I had to light candles and everything! It was my birthday!”

“I feel like  _ I _ should light a candle. At the altar of Marinette, powerful goddess of self-pleasure.” Alix knelt on her pillow and pressed her palms together in front of her, bowing in Marinette’s direction. “Enlighten me.” 

“I am not a--” started Marinette

“Seriously, Marinette. That is really impressive,” interrupted Juleka. “How do you… is this why you don’t wear nail polish?”

Alya blinked her eyes, for the first time that night approaching that particular level of startled which only Marinette usually attained.  _ Five times a  _ day _? _ She was worried that her friend was deprived, but apparently not, at least in that regard.  _ I guess this saves me having to give her a really uncomfortable talk _ …

_ Wait… _ Alya gasped.  _ if this is what she’s like at five times a day…  _

“How is it even  _ possible _ to…” started Mylène. She was unable to finish (unlike Marinette). She just shook her head slowly and shrugged, making an offhanded flickering gesture with the first two fingers of her right hand. “How!?”

“I don’t--” started Marinette, again.

“How do you even have the energy?” asked Juleka.

“Oh _mon dieu_ , is _this_ why you’re always late to class!? And _tired?_ ” Alya couldn’t help herself, and burst out laughing. “It makes so much sense!”

“Your nails  _ are _ really short...” said Mylène, giving Marinette’s hands an appraising glance.

“No they’re--” started Marinette, for a fourth time.

“And you have got some  _ serious _ definition in your forearms.  _ Foutre _ .” Alix had reached over and squeezed Marinette’s arm, running her thumb over the flesh of her wrist, getting a feel for her musculature. Of anyone in the room, Alix was the best informed about athletics.And given her history with Kim, with  _ athletes _ as well. 

Then again, Marinette’s muscle density wasn’t  _ entirely _ based on her bijou polishing, but on verbs related to an entirely different bijou altogether. 

“It’s...it’s… uh… sewing! It’s from sewing things, with my hands. It’s… being a seamstress, you know!” Perfect cover. Definitely fashion, definitely not superheroing. Marinette was slowly getting the idea that her rate of pearl buffing was maybe on the high end. “Ha ha! Yes! Just regular stuff, nothing… nothing weird about that.”

She self-consciously folded her hands in her lap, before realizing that might open her up to further commentary. With a visible effort, she placed her hands on top of the pillow in her lap, darting her eyes around.

“How do you not get  _ tired _ ? Tell me your secrets, seriously. Ivan is going out of town next week.”

“Well… I guess it helps that I’m pretty ambidextrous…”

Alix squeezed her other forearm. “You sure  _ foutu  _ are!  _ Merde _ ! I bet you could curl Max!”

“Ha ha that’s definitely not true and is never true! Ha!” said Marinette, covering expertly, growing in embarrassment.  _ Wine, why did you do this to me? _

“Oh holy  _ foutre _ , and that’s why you’re always so  _ clumsy _ ! You’ve got the post _ -jouir _ leg-shakes!” Alya cackles. “It’s all so obvious!”

The questions kept coming. How did she manage it? Was she for real? How can you even go that often? What are you thinking about?

Marinette, internally, was building enough pressure (of a different sort) to get all  _ Le Voyage dans la Lune _ on the power of shame itself. 

And that was before she remembered that there were three boys in the room, too. 

For their part, Nino, Ivan, and Adrien shared a few startled glances. Marinette was popping five out a day, and each of them could maybe  _ battre  _ their  _ boeuf  _ four times, if they didn’t have anything else to do that day,  _ or the next _ . And at a certain point, you really get diminishing returns.

For a girl supposedly like any other, Marinette was quite a prodigy at bijoulympics.

While the boys were sitting in stunned silence at Marinette’s unbelievable stamina, Marinette somersaulted backwards and scooted under her pillow, hiding from the world, pajama’d rump oriented skyward. Completely unaware that her hiding made her previous confession--and the inquisition following--even more entertaining of a spectacle.

“Alya please kill me, please hit me with an axe.”

“Hell no, girl. You've got too much to live for, and a rate to maintain! You should be getting a  _ foutu  _ crown!”

Rose gasped, and rolled over to the wall, digging through her bag. When she returned, she had a circlet of silk flowers, which she had woven together with startling rapidity. She beamed, and presented it to Marinette’s hiding place.

“For you! You’re our queen now!”

Alya raised the corner of her pillow. 

“Heavy lies the crown, your Majesty. Seriously. We’re proud of you. I’m proud of you. Now you’re gonna have competition. We’ll hold an O-lympics. But first! It's your damn turn, so pick some hapless fool!”

In an instant, Marinette’s embarrassing revelation was forgotten (or at least suppressed). The game was afoot, regardless of how impressively often she waxed her fiddle. 

Miserably, Marinette peeked out from under her pillow as Alya settled the flower crown on her head. Privately, she was pleased that Rose had picked pink for her garland. But back to the task at hand.  _ Who hasn’t gone yet? _ She scanned the circle.  Adrien (no way in hell was she going to go  _ there  _ yet), Juleka, Alya. Someone to take the tiniest sliver of attention off of her. Hmm… 

Figuring that Juleka could use a bit more time in the spotlight (after the whole Reflekta thing), Marinette chose her. “Juleka, truth or dare?”

“Dare.” Scandal! Marinette figured her for a truth. Her audience waited with anticipation (and a few stifled giggles) as she pondered her dare. Marinette-Marinette was a kind and gentle soul, but Wine-Marinette was a little more rambunctious. Even so, Juleka was still a bit delicate, so she had to be careful.

What to dare Juleka… here's an idea. A little sexy, a little flirty, a little Wine-Marinette, but also kinda sweet enough for Marinette-Marinette. 

“I dare you to switch clothes with Rose! We’ll get two people to hold up a sheet and you'll change behind it,” dared Marinette. 

Juleka looked down at Rose, who was curled up in her lap. Two big blue eyes blinked up at her and she ran her fingers through Rose’s short blonde hair. 

“Judge Alya approves the two-person dare as it is within Marinette’s rights as resident of the house. So speaketh Alya.”

“Okay.” Juleka blushed, and everyone moved into action.

For privacy’s sake, Alix and Alya held up the sheet while the boys stayed a respectful distance away, mostly only  _ pretending _ to try to peek around the corners. Rose was a little ball of sunshine and would probably be okay, but Juleka might be uncomfortable. And the game is about fun, after all. 

And making fun of each other. But in a good way.

Taking a little peek over the top of the sheet, Alya got the Ultimate Gal Pals back on track. “Ladies, come on! Juleka, stop distracting Rose with those  _ hips _ , damn!”

Rose protested, but complied. Juleka blushed hard enough to rival Marinette. The boys could see her cheeks glowing through the sheet.

...Not those cheeks.

Alya leaned over to Marinette, lowering the sheet an almost-scandalous amount, and poked the smaller girl in the ribs. “Nice hustle there, D-C. I see whatcha doing.”

“Like you didn't have a whole plan of your own.”

“I am scandalized at the implication! Wink.”

“Did you just say ‘wink’ out loud, and not actually wink?”

“Shhh. No more words.”

When they came out, Rose was in slightly too tight black lace that came down too far over her hands, while Juleka looked surprisingly comfortable in slightly too loose, slightly too short pink. Her black hair and purple streak contrasted with Rose’s pink and gold theme, while Rose was bulging pleasantly over the top of Juleka’s camisole. 

“We did it Marinette! Dare has been dared,” beamed Rose. 

“We, um… made sure to swap everything, too.” Juleka confirmed. Alya wolf-whistled her confirmation. Apparently, they were similarly sized, hipwise.

“So it's me now right? Uh let's see.” Juleka considered the un-truth-or-dared folks: Alya or Adrien. 

“Adrien. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Go easy on him,” jabbed Nino. “He's a homeschool case, he's never done this before.”

“Bring it. I'm tough and cool,” Adrien lied.

Juleka didn't have to think at all before she had a question. 

“Why did you bring so much Camembert?”

_ Merde _ , thought Adrien.  _ This is going to be tricky to answer _ . “Uh… did I not bring enough? I thought people liked Camembert?”

“Dude it's not that, we obviously like Camembert. We’re French.” Sass from Juleka. 

“Um I guess… I thought we could share? I don't know! I go through a lot of Camembert-- ”  _ very true, it's just not me eating it _ “--and I thought I could share that rare joy with others?”

“Dude,” said Nino. “I am not sure that's an answer.”

“This is all kind of new to me,” said Adrien. “This is the latest I've been out of my house, maybe ever, and not chaperoned, definitely ever. I don't think that's really an excuse or anything but--”  _ wait… perfect excuse _ “--I kinda received some really bad advice?”

Adrien remembered asking Plagg what other Chat Noirs (Chats Noir?) had done during other sleepovers, before his time. Of course Plagg had been lying. “Oh it was all cheese, all the time!” “French parties are always loaded with cheese, nothing else, really.” “Teens especially, wild about the  _ fromage,  _ wild, I say.” 

_ Dammit Plagg _ . 

Nino leaned over, putting his hand on Adrien’s shoulder. 

“Adrien. Bro. Look at me.” Adrien did. “Look me in the eyes.” 

“Uh, I am?”

“Adrien. Frere. Bro. You. Are a huge dumb nerd. Give me some cheese, it's your turn.”

After an appropriately Gallic cheese break, Adrien found himself in the driver’s seat of a slightly deflected sexy-drinking-game situation. Alya hadn't been called yet, so his choice was obvious. Adrien was, of course, highly concerned with justice. Came with the territory.

_ And since we’re at Marinette’s, so does she! Five times a day! _

_ Shut up, brain! Be polite! _

“Alya, truth or dare?”

“You all know me. I'm on an eternal quest for the truth! Truth away, centerfold.”

Adrien blushed at the nickname. Another memory came to mind. A few weeks ago, he had found a countdown website, ticking down to the day he would turn eighteen. There was a link to a Kickstarter that was supposed to fund his fees for modeling nude in a certain… lascivious publication. He had frantically closed the browser window, humiliated and embarrassed, but a little bit … curious… about the idea that so many people want to see him all Garden of Eden. Stem to stern. In the all-together. In his birthday suit, when it wasn’t his birthday. The thought had stuck with him, that night. He’d asked for a little privacy from Plagg to take care of a pressing situation that had made his pants uncomfortably tight. 

There were some parallels to tonight in that regard, actually.

_ I’m such a pervert _ , he thought, not knowing about Alya’s search history. And temporarily forgetting about Marinette’s confession.

Which gave him an idea for a truth…

“When was the last time you masturbated? Like how long ago?”

Alya pinked up a bit (Oh la la! Twice in one night!), and swept her glasses off her face with a practiced motion, leaning forward and raising an eyebrow as she did so. 

“Well well well, Mr. Agrestive, so demanding!”

“S-sorry I didn't mean to--”  _ I fucked up _ . 

“Ha! Shut up nerd it's fine.”  _ Oh good _ , thought Adrien. 

Alya replaced her glasses and checked her phone for the time. “It was… five hours and twelve minutes ago. Right before I came over, actually.”

Nino stifled a laugh, half heartedly. “Whoa really? Me too, for serious! Like right before I came over.”

“And it’s probably been, I dunno, twenty minutes, for Marinette?” said Alya, shooting some side-eye at her friend. “Gonna be a world-class baker, with all that pink dough you’re kneading.”

Marinette unleashed a brief, keening wail, and a barrage of pokes into her side.

Adrien looked around. “Hey, how many people rubbed one out before coming to Marinette’s? Obviously Marinette did, she's got a schedule to keep up--” he gestured to a beet-red hostess, who was conspicuously silent in terms of denials “--but y'all?”

“Um. Mine was a little earlier than Alya’s but… yeah.” This from Juleka. 

“Uh huh! Listening to Juleka!” Said Rose. Ooh la la! “I love Skype.”

They went around the circle, not even needing Alya’s fiat to pry the timing of their last solo session out of their lips. 

Every single one of the group had gotten off,  _ right  _ before Marinette's party. Even, to her embarrassment, Marinette herself (of course). Nino hadn't exactly been wrong.

Only Adrien had apparently neglected to care for his petite Agreste before dropping by. 

“Is… that something I should have known about?”

“Maybe!” said Alix. “When Alya throws a party--look Marinette I know we're at your place but Alya is the thirst quencher here--when Alya parties there's gonna be some sexual tension so  _ yeah.  _ We got it done to take the edge off, you know?”

Alya obviously had to interject. She was floating at a solid level of tipsy and had a mighty need to up the ante.

“SO: Adrien. Truth or dare? What's that, Dare? Good: I dare you to--”

“But I didn't say I wanted a dare!”

“Silence, Alya speaks! I dare you… to catch up with the rest of us.” She winked, aggressively, several times directly at Adrien.

Alya iacta est. The die is cast. 

Marinette’s face was fighting itself to decide whether to look horrified or  _ ravenous  _ at the idea of Adrien jerking off in her room. The many, many times she had imagined Adrien orgasming in her room, none of them had ever started like this. 

But that being said… the idea was pretty appealing in some ways. Maybe she could whisper Ladybug things to him? Maybe she could--

Alya poked her before she started drooling. 

Time to see what Adrien would say. 

Adrien was no stranger to people gazing at his body, but none of his photographers or handlers had ever been asking him to glaze a knuckle while doing it. Their aesthetics were… somewhat different. At least Marinette was leaving him his dignity, as she her face was buried in a pillow, and she was only barely peeking out. Everyone else was clearly fine with Adrien engaging in a bit of extremely close-quarters grappling with himself, but at least Marinette was too sweet for that. 

Under her pillow, Marinette was desperately holding her breath to keep from panting out loud. She hoped she wasn’t leaving teeth marks in anything she was biting down on to keep from shrieking in glee.

Straightening slowly, Adrien looked around at everyone, making embarrassed eye contact with his startlingly tipsy-drunk peers. 

When he had looked everyone in the eye, he spoke:

“I'm kinkshaming all of you.”

And whipped his shirt off over his head.

A chorus of “damn!” And “fie!” And “next time, Agreste!” met him as he partially denuded. But rules were rules. 

“I'm not going to knead my baguette in front of everyone! I'm not  _ nearly _ that drunk yet!”

Marinette stealthily refilled his drink.

“Come on pretty boy! Do it for Ladybug!”

Marinette squirmed and muffled a squeal with her pillow, but the crowd continued.

“Yeah, Ladybug! We’ll whisper Ladybug things to you!”

Marinette nodded in encouragement.

“ _ Bien joue _ !”

Marinette nodded harder.

Adrien flushed, the redness of his face spreading to his now-bare chest. Under her pillow, Marinette was staring up at the bronze-bodied Adonis Adrien (Adonrien) who had so infiltrated her every conscious fantasy. Without realizing it, she had stuffed the corner of her pillow back into her mouth and bitten down on it to stop from drooling, or moaning, or shrieking. 

Alya decided to intervene. Justice must prevail. “Okay horndogs, Adrien stripped instead of doing the dare, and them’s the rules. Harass the boy with your EYES not your WORDS.”

_ Bless you, Alya _ . Adrien was relieved to have a little support, even if it was from the objectively most perverted of his friends. 

Of course, he didn't know Marinette’s inner world with any great detail.

“Marinette?”

_ Merde _ , Adrien was asking her something.  _ Don't freak out _ . Marinette spat out a small mouthful of pillow to answer.

“Take me. I mean do anything. No I mean! Chest, Yaydrien? I mean, yes, Adrien?” 

“Is there somewhere I can hang this shirt up? I'm kind of a stickler for avoiding wrinkles… comes with the business, I guess.”

“Ah! Aha! Yes, shirt. I will have your shirt, and hold it, in my hands! And, then, then I will put it on…a… hanger? Yes. In my wardrobe, where it will be forever safe.” Subconsciously, Marinette had balled up the shirt a little bit, as she gently vibrated with intense, secret joys. Adrien was half-naked, in her room, and she was holding his  _ shirt _ , and until this moment, her life had been a featureless void.

_ OH ABSOLUTELY LET ME TAKE YOUR PERFECT SHIRT AND HANG IT UP AND NOT SMELL IT AT ALL, MY GLORIOUS GOLDEN IDOL _ , thought Marinette.

Adrien almost sunburned her with the brightness of his smile, and Marinette felt her face trying to stretch at the seams to contain her own grin. Before she could say any more words, or attract any more attention from the crew, she spun around, determined to find her finest, most sensual hanger for Adrien’s shirt. 

The golden boy was already turning his high beams on to the gathered teen masses, and Marinette was brought a tiny bit back to reality by the fact that none of them seemed to be screaming and blinded by the intense, powerful luminescence of his beauty. Not for the first time, she thought that maybe her crush was a  _ little _ too hard.

“Okay,” said Adrien behind her. “Let me think a moment, who’s left… wait, Alya! Everyone answered your Truth, so it barely counts. So: truth or dare?”

Marinette was listening with a carefully tuned ear--months ago, she had perfected the art of zeroing in on Adrien’s voice in a crowd. She rummaged through her closet, carelessly throwing some of her favorite garments to the floor in search of an appropriate hanger.

She located one. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed that everyone was looking at Alya, her face screwed up into an expression of consideration that was comically intense, trying to decide between truth and dare. She had crossed an arm over her chest and was dramatically tapping her lips with an index finger, pondering. Stalling for time. Giving Marinette a chance to--

What a perfect friend. Knowing, far in advance, what Marinette would do when presented with such an opportunity. 

Finding the hanger she had been thinking of (fluffy felt over a broad wood base, to prevent wrinkles), she slipped Adrien’s shirt on it. Peeking to make sure everyone was suitably distracted, she buried her face into soft, designer fabric, breathing in Adrien’s scent and warmth with every part of her face. His very specifically  _ Adrien _ boy-cologne suffused her, filling her nose and working its way into her pores, and Marinette had never felt so content with the world. Adrien’s particular perfume was just like any other boy, but model-clean and polished; tangy without being rank. And ever so slightly the rich, buttery-ripe scent of Camembert. 

Marinette had, over the past few months, developed a secondhand infatuation with Camembert. 

She hung the (perfect, immaculate) shirt up, and pushed some of her favorite sleepwear up against it on the rack, hoping to siphon off some of that precious Adrien boy-musk onto other fabrics, and worried for a second that she might be  _ unbelievably creepy _ . She turned to rejoin the circle, mentally lighting a candle for her unequivocally perfect wingman Alya, and immediately forgetting her temporary thoughts of creepiness as Adrien once again entered her line of sight.

Hearing Marinette approach, Alya finally made her choice. 

“Dare.” Such a long period of consideration couldn’t have resulted in anything else. Confession time was over--time to get these teens to be  _ naughty _ . Alya’s plan had generated its own momentum. 

Marinette was still giddy from the blast of Agreste pheromones, and she couldn’t help herself from grinning as she gazed at Adrien. His brow was furrowed perfectly, and he had interlocked his hands, with the index fingers extended and pressed against his chin. He looked like a suave college professor, but topless, about to lay some paradigmatic revelation onto an adoring lycee. Now  _ there’s  _ a class she’d love to get some extra credit for, with a little fun during office hours. Maybe she would--

Biting her lip, Marinette resolved to keep her various Adrien-centric fantasies to a minimum while he was actually  _ in _ her room.  _ Unless, of course, he happened to--no _ .  _ Focus _ , Marinette.  _ Steel yourself with wine. Your loyal friends, Wine and Alya, are here for you. _

As much of a wingman as Alya was to Marinette, Adrien was for Nino. His dare followed suit.

“I dare you to play the rest of the game from Marinette’s chaise longue, under a blanket, with Nino as your big spoon.”

“FINE WITH ME,” interjected Nino, flashing Adrien an immense smile and a thumbs-up behind Alya’s back.

Alya pushed him playfully.

“Hey, boy! Slow down, it’s my dare to accept. Hmm.”

Alya sat up, slowly unbuttoning her trademark flannel button-up. Everyone groaned, disappointed that she’d chosen to strip instead of the even more sexually charged cuddle-dare.

Marinette, of course, had glued her eyes to Adrien’s chest, and hadn’t even noticed what the dare was.  _ He must work out every day… at the very least, he’s always running through my mind. _

_...I can’t let Chat Noir ever know I thought that awful line. _

Tsk-tsking the teens of little faith, Alya shrugged her outer shirt off, revealing a low-cut baby tee that was skin-tight enough to reveal a camisole under it, in addition to her bra. Layers. She traced a hand down Nino’s arm, down to his wrist. Gliding to her feet, she grabbed Nino’s wrist and tugged him to his feed. 

“Who says I can’t do both?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm proud of my Latin pun and no one can tell me it's bad.


	7. In Which There Are Porte-Boners And It Is A Little Less Farcical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya and Nino enjoy the relative privacy of a blanket, and Mylène demonstrates the improvements she has made in acting. Marinette takes the most interesting shot of her life, and Alix demonstrates her eye for composition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is considerably, CONSIDERABLY, more sinful. It's also a little bit more Ivan, which is to say, longer.
> 
> Translation note:  
> Nut : noix  
> Nutt : noixx

_“I dare you to play the rest of the game from Marinette’s chaise longue, under a blanket, with Nino as your big spoon.”_

_“FINE WITH ME,” interjected Nino, flashing Adrien an immense smile and a thumbs-up behind Alya’s back._

_Alya pushed him playfully._

_“Hey, boy! Slow down, it’s my dare to accept. Hmm.”_

_Alya sat up, slowly unbuttoning her trademark flannel button-up. Everyone groaned, disappointed that she’d chosen to strip instead of the even more sexually charged cuddle-dare._

_Marinette, of course, had glued her eyes to Adrien’s chest, and hadn’t even noticed what the dare was._ He must work out every day… at the very least, he’s always running through my mind.

...I can’t let Chat Noir ever know I thought that awful line.

_Tsk-tsking the teens of little faith, Alya shrugged her outer shirt off, revealing a low-cut baby tee that was skin-tight enough to reveal a camisole under it, in addition to her bra. Layers. She traced a hand down Nino’s arm, down to his wrist. Gliding to her feet, she grabbed Nino’s wrist and tugged him to his feed._

_“Who says I can’t do both?”_

 

* * *

 

A chorus of teens ooohed and aaahed at Alya’s swagger as she swooped Nino over to the chaise longue. The group reoriented themselves in a semicircle around the reclining pair, after they broke Marinette’s reverie. Everyone had settled in the same order, by the time it was Alya’s turn, with Adrien and Marinette leaning against the foot of the chaise.

Alya, under Marinette’s blanket, wiggled her hips against Nino and considered her options. Nino, for his part, looked like his blood pressure doubled.

“Mylène. You’ve gotten off easy so far.”

“Now that we saw Ivan’s baguette, I’m not surprised!”

“Alix! I am scandalized,” gasped Marinette, not really that scandalized.

“Mylène got off? Oh no, I missed it!” Rose, excited by the implication, drew herself slightly away from Juleka’s lips.

“No, Rose, it’s a figure of speech.” Juleka ran her fingers through Rose’s hair, and drew her back into a kiss.

Alya continued. “Mylène, truth or dare?”

Mylène was leaning against Ivan, but had already subtly fished her hand out of his lap.

“I think I’ll do a dare this time, everyone else has done dares.”

Marinette realized that she was mostly right--only Marinette herself hadn’t been dared yet. And it was only a matter of time. As things were progressing in a hormonally-predictable way, she was a little bit nervous. But her _prime ami_ Wine assured her that it was fine.

“I dare you…” dramatic tension “...since you’ve got that whole mime thing going on with your classes and your dad... I dare you to mime how you give a blowjob.”

Applause, and ooh-la-la's. Monsieur Haprele was a good enough mime he’s almost defeated Ladybug and Chat Noir (with a little help from evil magic, of course). Mylène should be good for a show.

“O-okay! It’s less scary to act when there are fewer people. I...I can do that.” Everyone cheered her, including the increasingly-drunk and increasingly titillated Marinette and Adrien.

“Mmm... let me just get an idea of what I’d be working with…” She leaned over to Ivan and kissed his earlobe, as she snuck her hand down between his legs and gave him a little (more like a big) squeeze. “Had to calibrate.”

Ivan blushed hard, and shifted a pillow resting between his legs. To the careful observer, it was riding a little higher in his lap than it had before.

Mylène began. Her performance skills had improved markedly since she’d become the Horrificator; _Mme. Wine must be friends with everybody_ , thought Marinette. _Or maybe it’s just practice._

She first started off sitting up on her knees, and licked her lips. A little shiver ran through Marinette as she saw the hunger present on Mylène’s face-- _good god_ , _is that how I look_ ? There was something incredibly evocative about Mylène’s expression, as she bit her iip and looked upwards, through her lashes. She was either a natural, or had seen some high-quality erotica. Marinette glanced at Ivan, who was shifting with a very specifically turgid form of uncomfortable. _For his sake_ , she thought, _I hope it’s both_.

Mylène started her process in earnest. She expertly mimed undoing a belt, a button, and a zipper, before standing up and sliding her palms down an imaginary set of hips, bringing her mimed partner’s mimed pants down to the floor. She spread her fingers over the front of her invisible partner’s boxers, mimicking startled surprise as her fingers traced a sizable, invisible bulge at the front. Her lips puckered into a silent whistle.

With one finger, she hooked what must be the waistband of a pair of boxers, and gripped it in her teeth. She pulled away from her imaginary partner’s waist, and again looked up towards the ceiling, and her imagined Ivan’s eyes, and slowly began to sink to the ground, drawing the boxer with her.

Everyone cheered--Mylène had some serious talent for this. If she could make the boys of the class shift uncomfortably with the first moments of a _fake_ blowjob, they could only _imagine_ what Ivan got to experience. Even Marinette, with her painfully obvious obsession, couldn’t tear her eyes off of Mylène’s adroit foreplay. Had she been paying attention to Adrien, she would have noticed that he was unintentionally wrinkling his pants with how hard he was bunching the fabric in his grip. She would have noticed that a certain bulge had pushed her throw pillow a bit askance from his lap. But Mylène’s show had a visceral appeal that none could ignore. Who could resist the allure of mime, after all? They’re _French_.

Mylène licked her way up an invisible thigh and pressed her cheek against her partner’s length. She drew one hand up and down along the imaginary shaft of an improbably large cock, letting everyone know that she was very much thinking of Ivan in this instant. With one hand, she circled around her partner’s hips for a better grip, and wrapped the other around his girth. Her movements were precise and practiced, smooth without being artificial. Everyone watching was enraptured, practically able to see Ivan standing there, denuded, blushing, as his tiny, curvy girlfriend stroked his length.

Ivan, for his part, had begun breathing extremely hard. His tuft of frosted hair was standing up, _potentially by some form of quantum entanglement_ , thought Adrien, a nerd.

Mylène gave a few experimental pumps to her imaginary partner before darting her tongue out for a teasing lick of the invisible Ivan’s head.

At that moment, the final frontier where the Reign of Terror became the Directory, the spectators let out a collective sound, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp and a moan. Even Juleka, so passionate for her darling Rose, gave a little gasp and clutched Rose more tightly. Apparently Mylène just needed the right audience and the right performance style to truly captivate an audience. Apparently she should look into theater, rather than film.

To a chorus of soft, intent “mmm”s, Mylène gave an imaginary Ivan the blowjob of a lifetime. She hollowed her cheeks as much as she was able and pumped her hand up and down a ludicrously sizeable length of Ivan pipe, following it closely with her mouth, crossing her eyes at the imagined strain. She mock-braced herself with a hand against her partner’s hip, varying speeds and depth of her ministrations. She would pump her hand for a while, teasing with her tongue, as she’d slip her steadying hand between her invisible partner’s imaginary legs, teasing a pair of sizable _oeufs_.

Everyone was holding their collective breath by the time Mylène accelerated her stroking and slid a finger farther back, between her mimed lover’s legs. As she dipped her middle finger a little ways into an imaginary _ruelle du cul_ , she tilted her head back, opened her mouth, and milked an insubstantial, twitching monstrosity onto her chin and tongue.

With a single finger, she mimed collecting some of the imaginary mess from her lips, and sucked it off the full length of the digit, locking eyes with Ivan as she did so.

Breaking eye contact, she turned to the room at large, and swept a dramatic bow.

“ _Fin_ ,” she proclaimed.

The whole room seemed to release a shuddering sigh all at once, erupting into spontaneous applause at Mylène’s performance. People dabbed at their eyes at the beauty of it all. Even Ivan, so secondhand-embarrassed by Mylène’s skills, couldn't hold back at how impressive it had been--and he was in the best position to speak to the show’s authenticity. Rose presented Mylène with a secondary bouquet, and Marinette gave up her crown as Sexual Empress, flinging it with surprising accuracy onto Mylène’s mass of curls.

After the cheering died down, Alya broke the awkward, charged silence.

“Damn, Mylène. Just _damn_ . I had no idea the show we'd be getting. You’re a _naughty_ young lady, aren’t you? Just… _damn_.” Alya bit her knuckle for emphasis, and also potentially because of what Nino was doing.

“I know I speak for myself and--” she ground her hips backwards “--Nino here, but if you thought that was incredibly _foutu_ hot, raise your hand. Nino, not you. Keep your hands where I can feel them.”

One by one, hands went up. Ivan first, followed by Alix, followed by a still-breathing-hard Rose and Juleka. Nino, taking direction well, kept his hands where they were presumably occupied.

Marinette and Adrien were last to admit the obvious, bashfully glancing away from each other as they raised their hands. Neither had been on either end of an oral escapade like that, and Mylène’s skill was intimidating--though also extremely entrancing. With a covert self-assessment, Marinette realized that she might be soaking through her panties, while Adrien was worried that if he moved at all, he might unleash a particular floodgate which would be very unwelcome on Marinette’s carpet. It is generally considered poor form to _noixx_ on your host’s floor, uninvited.

Marinette, for her part, had imagined that particular deluge on her...carpet...many times before.

Mylène was blushing. Few other reactions made sense for someone who had just found out they’d turned on a room full of classmates, all at once. But it was her turn.

Marinette knew what was coming. And, statistically speaking, it was surprising that it wasn’t her..

“Marinette, truth or dare?”

Of course. _Foutre_ . Mylène had mentioned it before--only Marinette hadn’t been affected (directly) by a dare yet. She practically had to take it; and hey, if she didn't like it she only had to take a piece of clothing off, right? _No problem_!, said her new best friend, wine.

“D-d-dare!”

Adrien turned his solar flare smile on her again, and Marinette shrunk into herself a tiny bit. She couldn't help but grin as she drew her knees up to her chin. Mylène was perfectly nice. She wouldn't do anything too--

“I dare you to take a body shot off of Adrien’s abs!”

Mylène. You _monster_.

Marinette wasn’t up on all of the hip Parisian clit-terminology, but she knew what a body shot entailed:

Licking the (perfect) body in question.

Dusting the wet spot (on Adrien, not on her) with salt.

Licking the salt off of the (still perfect) body.

Taking a (money) shot.

Biting the lime they were holding in their mouth to get its juice (yes, get the juice, indeed).

_And all of that off of_ Adrien _. All of that off of Adrien’s perfectly sculpted teen abs, glistening in the subdued light of my room as I tenderly place my--_

\--realizing that she was staring directly at Adrien’s abs, Marinette started. Adrien--and everyone else--was looking at her.

“I-I-I think th-that’s fi-fine if you’re o-okay with it,” said her best friend Mme. Wine, speaking in exactly Marinette’s voice, out of Marinette’s mouth.

Adrien let out a little laugh. _Of course he wouldn’t want to, stupid Marinette for--_

“Sure, that’s f-fine with me.”

Wait. Had that been a _nervous_ laugh? Had Adrien seriously just expressed acceptance of Marinette taking a shot off of his perfect body?

“Alya! Do you have tequila and limes?” Mylène was getting the ball rolling.

Alya had closed her eyes and was wriggling under the blankets. Nino appeared to be attached to her collarbone by his mouth. She was slightly short of breath when she answered.

“Ah Rose they… mmm… they’re in my bag over by…. aaaaahhhh, the desk.”

Rose was currently draped across Juleka’s lap, but she managed to snag the satchel with her toe and pass it to Mylène. Mylène extricated Ivan’s hand from her _nichon_ and pass it to Alya, who extracted a single hand from the blanket and scooted it over to Marinette.

Trust Alya to plan ahead. Marinette opened the bag to see a fifth of tequila, a salt shaker, and pre-sliced limes. Unaware of her bestie’s flustered state, Alya was busy gripping Nino’s short hair as he did something under the blanket. Nino’s hat was a casualty, flung off to the side.

“W-well it’s… it’s all here.”

“Y...yes.” Was Adrien nervous, too?

Mylène to the rescue. “Adrien, lean back! Marinette, go to town!”

Marinette realized she was holding her breath and tried to let it out slowly. _Preserve the illusion that you are a competent and composed young woman, Marinette. Preserve the illusion_.

Foutre, _impossible, they know how often I masturbate._ The blush came back, stronger, feeding on its defeated foe, confidence.

Adrien was looking down at his lap. He had readjusted himself under the pillow so that he was less obviously Agrect, but if he was to lean back for a body shot…

Trying to distract himself, he swallowed the last of his drink. Marinette had swigged hers down as well.

“Trying to get a little liquid courage, huh?” He gave her a nervous little glance out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah, I-I’m a swallower,” replied Marinette.

…

_Ohmygod what did I just say_

Thankfully, while everyone else would have read too much into that, Adrien was _very_ homeschooled, and the only one listening; the other classmates were deeply engrossed in each other. Regardless, Marinette turned a vibrant Tikki-red.

Too focused on his own awkwardness, Adrien had barely noticed anything. He turned fully towards her, fiddling with his hands on the pillow in his lap.

“Um, Marinette, I’m fine with this, and everything,” Adrien started. “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with… um…”

“I’ll do anything!” she said. “ I mean...you’re perfect! I mean fine. I mean _I_ am fine! I mean… uh…”

“Come on, pretty boy!” Alix interrupted. “A lady is trying to get her tongue onto you.”

“Oh uh…” mumbled Adrien, giving Marinette a run for her money in the blushing department.

“Lay back and think of Ladybug, huh?” said Alix. “Something something _bien joue_ , something something let me lick you, something bye bye _petit papillon_ , how's that?”

Marinette and Adrien, independently stiffened, and then Adrien stiffened again. Alix wasn’t helping. Adrien’s heart was racing--he didn’t want to be unfaithful to his lady, but it’s not like this was exactly infidelity, and it’s not like they were actually dating, and it’s not like he hadn’t imagined her saying some of those very same words to him and it’s not like Alix knew and it’s not like Marinette knew and boy Marinette was looking pretty cute right now and boy she had kind of a look in her eyes boy she really warmed up to me since the first week of school and hey ouch.

Alix had grabbed Adrien’s (perfect, tousled) hair and pulled him backwards onto his elbows, stretching out his long, lean torso right in front of Marinette’s hungry eyes. His pillow slid off his lap at the sudden change of position, but no one appeared to have noticed why he’d put it there originally, yet.

Marinette, after an internal heart-to-heart with Wine Marinette, had decided to go for it, no more delays, as this dare was a perfect idea. She snuck a glance at Alya, who was still lightly writhing under the blanket on the chaise, but alert enough to the outside world to give her thirsty friend a thumbs-up. Marinette took a deep breath and leaned over her potential-paramour’s toned midsection.

With as much grace as a drunk teenager can muster, she licked a broad line across his abs, savoring every firm crest of muscle under her tongue. Marinette felt like no sensitive organ--bijou or not--could have as many nerve endings as her tongue _had_ to have in that moment. She felt, and tasted, Adrien with such detail, that she knew that she could draw a map, purely from memory, of the track her tongue had traces along his lines. When he shuddered, she felt every minute movement as a taste and tremble that only her tongue could process. She had never been closer, more intimate, or more involved with another person’s body. The experience was intense for her in a way she couldn’t verbalize, but which her body reacted to with aggressive and (petit-)mortifying familiarity. An immaterial pressure grew inside her, exceedingly familiar from her recently-confessed, very private, five-times-daily-more-on-the-weekends ritual.

Unable to look at Adrien’s flawless face in this moment of his absolute and total (if unknowing) control over her libido, Marinette turned her head to Adrien’s legs. Earlier, in the living room, she had almost face-planted between Adrien’s thighs when he’d caught her after opening a bottle of wine with more enthusiasm than skill. For the second time that day, she found herself face-to-face with his _grande paquet_. This time, though, he had been teased and tempted to oblivion by a series of scurrilous dares and truths, as well as a beautiful girl who apparently shared his crush on Ladybug. His prior tuckjob had been insufficient.  A substantial bulge pressed up through his trousers, almost arching back on itself in the tight confines of slim-cut pants.

Adrien’s baguette was risen, as he was bent over backwards, right in front of Marinette.

 

* * *

 

Adrien was a bit of a mess. He had been titillated by his fellow teens, he’d been witness to the hottest mime-blowjob that anyone had ever performed, and it was all proving to be a little overwhelming for a homeschooled shut-in with less than a full year of peer socializing under his belt. Now he found out the hard ( _real_ hard) way that he liked his hair pulled (thank you, Alix), and was observing a surprisingly sassy, surprisingly sensual classmate lick her way along his abs.

For a girl who had seemed like such a shrinking violet to him, he’d learned a lot about Marinette, thanks to his second best friend, wine.

She had a crush on Ladybug, which first of all established her extremely good taste and judgment of character, and she apparently was also into Chat, which was flattering--even if he couldn’t come out and admit why. And she was incredibly sassy, it turned out, and kind of forward even, and she might even kind of like Adrien, maybe. _Now that’s quite a concept to entertain, Agreste._

And then he stopped thinking, because she was licking his lower abs, right under the belly button, and he felt his body shudder. No Gabriel brand intimates collection had ever made him tremble like that.

More than anything, Adrien concluded, Marinette is an _artist_ . And right now, her tongue is her brush and my abs are the canvas and _sacre foutre_ , she just turned her head and my _porte-boner_ is right in her _foutu_ FACE.

 

* * *

 

Adrien was no Ivan, but from her perspective right at his lower abs, Adrien’s petit Agreste looked larger and more impressive than she had ever imagined. And, oh, she had _imagined_.

She gasped softly in spite of herself, and turned her face--very gently--towards Adrien, feeling her mouth go the tiniest bit slack (and potentially start to water a little).

Adrien was looking down at her, a heavy blush high in his cheeks, looking like some embarrassed Greek deity startled by a naiad mid-bath. For once, finally, Marinette was not the more embarrassed of the two; this scenario was far from novel for her, at least in fantasy. Adrien’s mouth hung open, and he was trying to work his lips into some semblance of language.

“...Sor...sorry ab-bout that,” he started. “I didn’t mean t-to…”

He drifted off as his peripheral vision picked up Marinette’s hand snaking down to Alya’s bag. Feeling blindly, but with a dexterity she never possessed while not sewing or drunk, she plucked one of Alya’s pre-sliced limes and pressed it against his lips. The sudden burst of sour quieted him.

Adrien held the lime between his lips as tenderly as he could. He desperately maintained eye contact as she continued.

With a confidence she never felt in sober life, she whispered to him, “Shhhh.”

She reached down into the bag again, pulling out the salt shaker.

“It’s fine, Adrien,” she whispered. She lightly salted the streak of wetness on his abs. Her blue eyes never stopped staring directly into him.

“We’re all feeling it,” she continued, as she leaned over to lick the salt off of him. “That’s why everyone took care of business beforehand.”

Her tongue traced patterns across his muscles that he didn’t know could exist, and his whole body trembled and buzzed as she dragged, scraped, sliced her tongue across him. Her eyes never left his, and he was panting, helpless, around the lime in his lips when she had enough salt.

She leaned back a tiny bit, just enough to tip Alya’s bottle of tequila into her mouth. Still looking at him, she swallowed a mouthful of the powerful spirit, and leaned over Adrien. Her eyes bore into his, and he could feel the heat radiating off of her face.

His lips still held the lime, and his body was vibrating. The only thing preventing him from moaning was his breath, which he did not trust to let escape. Marinette had become an avatar of something powerful and confident and arousing and everything he wanted all at once, and she had been sitting behind him in class for _months_.

Two thoughts struck him:

_This is what parties are like!?_

And:

_I hope Ladybug wouldn’t be disappointed in me_.

The second was washed away in a surge of adrenaline and a gasp of air, as Marinette delicately snagged a corner of the lime with her teeth and tugged it out from between his lips, never touching him. She bit into the lime and sucked on it, inches from his face, letting the juice drip onto his chest, before she pulled back.

Adrien was breathing hard, and he somehow had the presence of mind to recall Marinette’s celebrity crush.  A third thought struck him:

_I hope Ladybug is bi._

 

* * *

 

The sharp, sour bite of the lime finally kicked Marinette’s brain back into some semblance of its regular working order. She spent a moment staring at Adrien, still leaning back, shirtless, with lime juice dripped on his chest, and a trail of saliva along his abs--but no salt. She’d been thorough.

And she couldn’t believe she’d just done that.

Her alcohol-fueled flush turned to a full fledged firestorm blush as she immediately looked away, burying her face in her cup. She’d just done a body shot off of Adrien _foutu_ Agreste, and he’d had a three-quarter-Ivan in his pants, and it was at least partially because of _her_ , and probably Mylène, but also probably partly _her_ and she had never done anything like that before and--

And on Monday, she would have to sit in class, looking at the back of his head, and know that she’d licked salt off of his naked flesh.

A low whistle sounded from Rose’s cleavage.

“That was pretty hot, Marinette,” said Juleka. “I thought you were way too shy for that.”

“A ha well! Yeah! Don’t read too much… into it?” lied Marinette. She would do it again, instantly, any time, no matter how embarrassing Monday would be. The taste of Adrien’s skin under her tongue was worth it.

“I think you broke Adrien,” said Rose, pressing Juleka back into her bust. Marinette’s eye bulged, and she spun around, only to see Adrien swiping the lime juice off of his chest with a finger. He was blushing, but un-broke. Of course, metaphors, thought Marinette, remembering communication basics at last.

“S-sorry, Adrien!” she said, in a reversal of herself from just a few moments ago. “I ho-hope that w-wasn't too awkward for you.” Unconsciously, she found herself scratching the back of her head, mirroring his usual gesture.

“No! No, it’s fine! Ha, yes, sorry! I didn’t mean to make it awkward with my, uh…” He trailed off. The pillow was back in his lap. Riding pretty high, too.

“No, I’m sorry! It’s fine! You said that already, sorry…”

“Oh no you don’t have to be sorry, I’m sorry!”

“O-oh, okay I apologize I just didn't want to--”

“ _FOUTRE vous MERE_ , you two, quit it,” said Alya from under the blanket. “Marinette, it’s your turn. Unless you need a little break… It’s been, what, an hour?”

Marinette wrinkled her nose at the (all-too-accurate) implication, and took a moment to compose herself from her brief moment of aggressive sexual assertiveness (well, for someone besides herself, all the time, every day). She smoothed down her hair and adjusted her top--stretched out and slowly savoring the flavor of Adrien’s body hadn’t kept her clothing in quite the right place. But of course, it hadn’t gotten _quite_ out of place enough, yet… but the game was still on.

“Alix, truth or dare?” she asked.

“Dare, obviously.”

Marinette decided to go easy on her. _Those last rounds had gone hard on Adrien_ , she thought, formulating a plan.

_Oh merde_ , she thought-- _did I imply that we were all horny after the last few rounds, when I was licking Adrien?_!

_Double-merde. “Gone hard.” Chat Noir would never let me live that thought down..._

_Too late now. Be embarrassed later. Dare Alix._

_Thanks, Wine. You’re a true friend, as true as Alya._

“I dare you to send a sexy picture to Max.”

“Haha! Can I use the ones I already have?”

“Such a pervert,” said Ivan, pushing her, before going back to making out with the plump, colorful girl perched on his knee.

“Judge Alya says--hey, dial it back a little--it has to be a new picture,” said the squirming lumps under the blanket on the chaise.

Alix thought for a moment, then stood up.

“I have an excellent idea, but I’m going to need some help,” she said. Looking around the room, Ivan and Mylène were becoming rapidly more horizontal, and Alya and Nino were a puddle of gentle moans under a blanket.

“Okay, Marinette, I need you to take the picture, and I need Rose and Juleka to help me with staging. It’ll be just like old times.” She beamed a smile and winked at the suddenly-blushing Rose. Juleka, meanwhile, was nibbling her own lip and drooling with her eyes. “And Adrien? Since the other boys are busy, you can get to watch, too.”

“I… may stay right here, actually,” said Adrien. He was clutching his pillow to his lap again, trying not to grind his hips into it. _It is rude to noixx on your host’s pillow. It is rude to do that. Do not do that._

“Your loss, pretty boy. Might as well show off the goods while we’re here.” With that, Alix gave his hair another playful tug, and Adrien rose, carefully keeping his confiscated pillow in front of him.

Alix had a very specific tableau in mind for her sext to Max. Apparently, she’d been sending pics back and forth to him for a while--everyone knew Max had a thing for athletes--but she’d wanted to get a bit more naughty for him. If Nino had been paying attention, he would have appreciated her cinematic eye.

In typically blunt Alix fashion, she described what she wanted. She’d lose her shirt--so Adrien was getting a little treat, before the other boys noticed, at least. Rose and Juleka would each donate a hand to the frame, to cover up one of Alix’s pert _petite tetons_. The rest of them would be out of the frame. The term “old news” came out of Alix a few times; apparently, they’d gone through the Reign of Terror with Alix before. Alix herself, in addition to donating the tits in question, would tug down her bike shorts until just the barest little peek of hair curled over the top.

Totally covered, practically nunnish in its modesty!

Of course, the members of the tableau vivant got to see (squeeze) a bit more Kubdel than Max would. That wasn’t the point, of course--the point of a sext is to tease the _recipient_.

Alix stripped her shirt off, revealing a toned body with pert little _tetons_ atop them. Adrien averted his gaze shyly, before realizing that shyness would probably make Alix tease him more. She giggled and shimmied herself at him, getting a surprising amount of wiggle for someone who had to be an 80B, tops.

Marinette panicked a tiny bit, seeing someone shake her frontwise features at her true love, and gestured for Rose and Juleka to tame Alix’s jiggling nips. The gesture came out more as a frantic hand-flailing, but the point was conveyed. This whole endeavor was, of course, hilarious to Alix. But she quieted her gyrations, with a wink to Marinette.

Self consciously, Marinette looked down at her own chest. She wasn’t an Alya or a Mylène, or even a Rose, really, but her set were nothing to be ashamed of, she hoped. Peeping sideways at Adrien and blushing, she adjusted her bra to fluff herself up a bit, as Alix was arranging her little set piece to her satisfaction. Remembering her lingerie choices, she smiled to herself. _Hopefully there’s some secondhand luck for me_.

Marinette took a baker’s dozen (of course) pictures of Alix, and the pink-haired girl finally settled on one where she was exposed from smile to knees, nipples obscured by two fingers each from off screen, and a sliver of pink bush popping out of bike shorts. _Tres coquin_! Lucky Max.

Rose and Juleka palmed Alix’s tetons over to her seat in the circle, where she switched out their hands for a pillow she hugged to her chest. She’d decided to forego putting her shirt back on--Alya would be pleased--but with a knowing grin at Marinette, blocked line-of-sight to her chest from Adrien with her pillow. She had angled the pillow so that Rose and Juleka could get a nice little view, though.

Alix’s turn.

“Nino, truth or dare?”

From under the blanket, a muffled “dare.”

“I dare you to come out here and give Ivan a lap dance.”

Alya decided to respond in his place.

“What’s that Nino? You reject the dare? Okay better strip.”

Immediately, Nino’s shirt fell out of the blanket, off the side of the chaise.

“That was quick,” commented Adrien. “Almost as if his shirt had already been off…”

“Coincidence,” came a muffled mumble.

“For the record that would be fine literally any other time,” said the blanket.

“Yeah I’m down,” said Ivan, from between Mylène’s frontward assets. He tossed a thumb up to the room, mouth and face still occupied. “I got a big lap.”

“Alya, truth or dare?”

A different mumble replied. The chaise was one solid bundle of blanket now, rhythmically bumping against itself. “Mmm, dare.”

“I dare you to let me mmmmmph,” said the first mumble. Alya’s baby tee and camisole dropped out from under the blanket.

“Wow it’s almost like they…” thought Adrien out loud. Before finishing the thought, he blushed. Marinette, to his side, passed him a celebratory cup of champagne.

“For finally getting it,” she said, and blinked up at him with very large eyes.

“Heh. Sorry. I’m still--”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about Greatrien. I mean Adrien.”

“I just don’t know much about...anything, really, except modeling.”

“Well, I can tell you this little secret,” whispered Marinette. She leaned towards him, pressing her shoulder into his, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. “I think Nino and Alya might be _messing around_ in there.”

“No!” gasped Adrien, with mock shock. “Surely not!”

“It’s true! And don’t call me Shirley.”

“Is that another pun that only works in English?”

“Whoa, yeah it is.”

Enjoying the tiny warm Ladybug admirer leaning up against him, Adrien stole a glance around the room--purely so as to not stare at his shoulder-warmer, of course.

Alya and Nino were under a blanket. Rose and Juleka had created a little nest in the pillows and were holding each others’ faces and kissing. Mylène had Ivan up against a wall, standing on a footstool to make out with him and grind her hips into his. Alix he tried to avoid looking at--she didn’t have a shirt on, and he didn’t want to be a churlish blackguard.

“Alix truth or dare,” said the Alya-mumble beneath the blankets.

Snatching her hand away from her lap, Alix replied with the obvious: “Dare.”

“I dare you to squeeze in between me and Nino, under the blanket.”

“Mmmmm….”

Alix let the pillow drop, giving Marinette and Adrien a playful bounce-of-the-tit before lifting the blanket on the chaise. Under it, Alya and Nino had removed some considerable pieces of clothing, and pulled some others to the side, for easier access. They looked like they were rapidly proceeding beyond the Reign of Terror, and wanted Alix to be their personal Constitution of Year III.

_Wow_ , thought Adrien. Embarrassed as always, he looked away. Like any teenager, he was all about seeing naked friends but…

But there was a pretty girl on his shoulder, there was a spotted heroine he loved, and there was a certain level of emotional stunting he had earned through a loveless childhood. The last thing he wanted was to drive folks away by leering at them. He’d seen enough nudity in his line of work, and enough drooling photographers to know creep when he saw it. And this sexual charge made everything much, _much_ more intense. He still hadn’t managed to bring himself down to half-mast, let alone parade rest.

“Nino, truth or dare?”

“Dare”

“I dare you to help me catch up with Alya under here,”

Going out of turn, Alya went next.

“Marinette I dare you to let us three move up to your bed. Seriously. Please.”

“I also dare that,” dared Nino.

“Mmmpphh,” agreed Alix, from Nino’s neck.

Marinette’s eyes got wide. Rules are rules. Either that dare, or she’d start losing clothes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are all great and I hope you enjoy! Man, I really don't have those line divider breaks with any pattern, do I? 
> 
> It'll likely be a while before I can post again; I'm taking a vacation to New Orleans with some very good friends of mine. We'll be all around the French Quarter (or as the French say, the Quarter), and I will be eating my weight in shellfish. 
> 
> If anyone likes Hey Arnold, I deeply recommend this frere of mine's excellent fanfic, Keeping Arnold: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10366855/1/Keeping-Arnold-Or-How-to-Get-Disowned. Be alert, it has a COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TONE THAN THIS STORY. But yeah he's why I'm a big fanfiction dork, and I love him.
> 
> And I love all of y'all! Go sin.


	8. In Which A Plan Is Almost Executed, And There Are Several Good Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette has to put up or shut up about Alya's latest dare. Alya inconsistently applies her authority as Chief Justice of Truth or Dare, and both Marinette and Adrien find themselves surrounded by a maelstrom of hooking-up classmates. A little privacy is required. But will Alya's grand plan be realized?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEAH BELIEVE IT OR NOT THIS ONE'S GONNA HAVE SOME SIN IN IT

  _“Nino, truth or dare?” asked Alix_

_“Dare.”_

_“Help me catch up with Alya under here,”_

_Going out of turn, Alya went next._

_“Marinette I dare you to let us three move up to your bed!”_

_Marinette’s eyes got wide. Rules are rules. Either she did the dare--or she’d start losing clothes._

 

* * *

 

Marinette whirled, wide-eyed, towards Adrien, spinning fast enough that one of her pigtails bopped her in the cheek. Adrien was still hiding that bulge that she’d so brazenly eye- _foutred_ mid-body-shot, and she just barely caught his eyes darting away from her chest as she whipped around.

Adrien was trying to look around inconspicuously--he was even whistling a little. But no matter where he looked, his gaze fell upon teens in the throes of the Reign of Terror, if not beyond. Mylène and Ivan were definitely experimenting with the Directory, at least. Whistling wasn’t enough of a casual distraction. Conversation, maybe:

“Say, uh… isn’t it Nino’s turn to--” he began, before Alya’s  cut him off.

“That’s Nino’s dare too, isn’t it Nino?” Her question was met with an enthusiastic grunt from the depths of the chaise longue, and a thumbs-up shoved past the edge of the blanket. Alya was Nino’s mouthpiece, it seemed. Given that he hadn’t been able to articulate any actual sentences, perhaps in more ways than one.

That settled it. The dare was dared, and either a bed or a garment was on the line. Marinette had never been much of an exhibitionist. Even her skintight suit escapades were more a function of circumstance than preference. Yet now she was alone with Adrien (but for the small fact of seven other exuberantly distracted classmates) and she felt herself sorely tempted to _exhibit_.

“Sorry Alya,” she said. “If anyone’s going to be messing around in my bed it’s going to be me.”

She thought she saw Adrien’s pulse speed up in his throat. At the very least, _some_ powerful internal force was making him suck his lower lip between his teeth.

“Adrien,” she called to him, softly. He finally settled on a place to rest his gaze: her.

Marinette’s voice was barely trembling; progress.

_Hey… is this Wine-Marinette, or me-Marinette right now? Oops too late._

“You can look if you want,” she said, as she slowly began to pull her shirt over her head.

 

* * *

 

Marinette wasn’t shy. Adrien may not know that, given her bashfulness around him, but everyone else knew that she wasn’t shy. She could be loud, and passionate, and lots of things--even when she wasn’t being Ladybug. And besides, she mused, there’s no way that someone with fantasies as vivid as hers could truly be called _shy_. She was just selective.

Likewise, she wasn’t shy about her body. She wore two-piece swimsuits and took showers in the locker room and had a push-up bra and did basic comfortable-with-your-body things. She’d been to the Louvre. She had embarrassing conversations in her tween years with her mom, and she’d gone through the quite comprehensive French sex education curriculum. Her parents hadn’t raised her to be ashamed of her body--they’re in Paris _, France_ , not Paris, _Texas_ \--and so she was most certainly a confident, self-possessed young person. Except when she wasn’t.

Marinette bounced between extremes of confidence and doubt. The two emotions swished inside her, dramatic music playing, as they cracked their knuckles and rolled up their sleeves in preparation for a rumble. The feeling of power and certainty she’d had while licking salt off of Adrien’s tense abs had deserted her, and she flickered between a veritable census of emotional states. Jumping around, pulse and level of blush wildly inconsistent, touring new and dumbfounding realms of insecurity and fear and confidence and embarrassment and passion and doubt and desire, and then desire again.

But, after a painfully slow progression of seconds, the damage was done, her top was on the floor, and Marinette sat in front of her first world-shattering crush in just her bra and pajama pants. She was holding her breath, and didn’t quite know what to do with her hands. Desperate for some trivial distraction, she scouted for a loose thread on her pillow and fiddled with it. Her eyes weren’t ready to meet Adrien’s yet, or potentially ever.

Adrien, for his part, couldn’t keep himself from staring. He had been around undressing models since he’d been old enough to strut a catwalk, but no bare skin had ever stopped and restarted and stopped and restarted his heartbeat like Marinette’s was currently doing. Compared to Marinette, the rushed and passionless clothing swaps backstage at a show were nothing. He clutched the pillow--which he had increasingly been identifying as “his”--and tried not to grind his hips against it, or the air, or his own underwear, or anything.

And of course, unable to help himself, cursing his lack of tact and gentlemanliness, his eye caught Marinette’s newly-exposed lingerie.

“Ladybug?”

Marinette’s eyes snapped up to him, a look of panic on her face, before the wheels clicked into place. She glanced down to her newly-public chest. Then she remembered.

After Ladybug and Chat Noir had burst onto the freshly-necessary superhero circuit in Paris, a few local businesses had capitalized on the popularity of the duo. And since it was Paris, the locals could really get things done, in terms of fashion.

And so that is how Marinette found herself commissioned to assemble a custom-fit, ladybug-patterned bra and panty set for Alya. Nino had surprised Alya with it for her birthday, and for a week afterwards he had paid Marinette in specie more precious than gold: mixes of Adrien's favorite music that he'd put together. It was heavy on the Jagged Stone, which of course indicated Adrien’s excellent taste. But looking back on the track lists, they tended to feature a healthy dose of Daft Punk; presumably, Nino had taken an active hand in shaping young Adrien’s musical interests. Either way, direct and thorough knowledge of Adrien’s preferences was an extremely acceptable price for her services.

With so much ladybug-print fabric at her disposal, Marinette didn’t see why she shouldn’t have a little fun. It was only a matter of time before a major fashion cartel started mass producing Ladybug undergarments, so she might as well jump the hype. Purely for entertainment value, she had figured. Just to see if she could, she had told herself. Only for a laugh, she had rationalized. She’d made a matching set of Ladybug lingerie for herself, for days when she needed a  little secret that no one knows (yet), some private boost that she could be proud of throughout the day. Secret fancy underwear is secret confidence.

So Marinette, who is Ladybug, thought she heard herself called Ladybug, by the boy who was being seduced by Marinette, but who was crushing on Ladybug. And the boy in question was staring at the Ladybug spots on the bra of a girl who had the hots for Ladybug, and maybe also him, Adrien, and also Chat Noir, so also him, and also he had confessed to her that he had a thing for Ladybug.

At a loss for words, Adrien abandoned any hope of controlling his gaze while Marinette sputtered, trying to regain her understanding of French.

“Oh!” said Marinette. “The bra! Yes! I… may have made this for myself after I made Alya’s for her birthday. It’s uh… kind of my lucky charm.” She felt an involuntary nervous smile tickle her lips, but she mostly felt relieved, her heartbeat returning to standard RPM. Adrien hadn’t made any connections, thankfully. He was probably just tickled by her foresight in lingerie choices.

Adrien had a thing for Ladybug: extremely pertinent information. Marinette memorized that fact again, twice as hard. And he was still staring intently at her.

“Uh, oh, sorry. It’s just… y-you look really great.”

Marinette blushed, doing her best to match the color of her underthings.

“I s-sure hope they’re a matched set.”

Adrien looked extremely aghast at what he had just said. Marinette rocketed past ladybug-red, and her blush was in heretofore unexplored hues. Unable to speak, she nodded. Adrien took a shuddering breath and kept his hands very, very still. His pillow, to the trained observer, had elevated itself. And he still hadn’t been able to look away.

All around them, the sound of romantically exploratory teens reverberated. Rose and Juleka, Ivan and Mylène, Nino and Alya and Alix, all seemed to have broken off into their own little satellite parties of two or three very exclusive members.

But Pastryfest 201X wasn’t done with Marinette yet. Rose interrupted herself mid-moan to make a suggestion.

“Oh Marinette! I love your bra! And you’re topless now, that’s great! Mmm, Juleka…” Rose and Juleka had found their own blanket and were trying to out-writhe the chaise. Apparently Ivan and Mylène didn't have a monopoly on the Directory. “Adrien, you should do a body shot off of her now! I mean, I dare you. Aah! Mmmm, more of thaaat…”

While Rose returned to concentrate on Juleka’s trail of kisses, Adrien looked at Marinette with heat in his eyes. How he managed to avoid being scalded by her own gaze was its own mystery.

“That… that sound good,” Marinette heard herself say.

“ _Oui_ ,” agreed Adrien. “Wh-where do you think I should… lick?”

 _I have a number of ideas_ , thought Wine-Marinette and also Marinette-Marinette. _But not right now_ , added Marinette-Marinette. _Maybe_ . Not trusting her voice--as Mme. Wine had shown that she couldn’t be trusted with _words_ \--Marinette pointed to her abdomen, right below her belly button. Exactly where she had licked Adrien before.

She leaned back, legs folded under her, sitting on her heels, elbows holding her up.

Adrien took a swig of wine, his mouth suddenly dry, and very much in need of something wet. _Something very specifically wet_ , he thought, immediately followed by, _Shut up self, not now_. He returned his cup to its place of relative harmlessness on the floor. Better dry than drooling, he supposed.

Marinette, who he had liked but never gotten to know before tonight, was leaning back, waiting for him to take a body shot off of her. When she had done the same on him, he had never had a more sensually _vigorous_ experience. Even his occasional one-handed self-hug sessions couldn’t even come close--not like he was anywhere near Marinette’s level, or frequency, of course. Her body shot had been unique, and swept away what he thought he knew about the effect one person can have on another.

Her tongue had been electric, and his body had been a superconductor.

He hoped he wouldn’t let her down, now that it was his turn.

Hands trembling, he picked up the salt shaker and scooted over to Marinette. Trying to emulate what she’d done, he bent very slowly over her belly, keeping his eyes on hers, and watching the swell of her chest as she breathed harder and harder.

He steadied himself with a hand on her knee, and she almost bounced off the ceiling. Controlling herself just in time, she settled for a small gasp instead. She realized she was continuously nodding, biting her lower lip and rocking her head up and down in barely-contained glee. _Adrien_ would put his tongue on _her_.

Using Marinette’s trick of keeping eye contact--Marinette had scooted up on her hands, not her elbows, to get a better look--he extended his tongue and licked a broad, flat swath slowly across her.

As soon as his tongue touched her, he felt every fast, hard breath rush in and out of her, every time her muscles tensed and tensed again, surprisingly firm and strong as he tasted her. He felt every tiny tremor, could feel the frenzied impulses of her nerves exploding with wanton abandon as he painted his tongue across her belly. Her skin had its own flavor, something sweet and bright, but with a robust undertone he couldn’t adequately describe, or ever forget.

When she threw her head back with a series of soft shuddering gasps, breaking eye contact for the first time, he figured she must be pretty satisfied with his performance. But he wasn’t done.

“Marinette,” he whispered, and her head shot up. Big blue eyes blinked.

He pinched a lime slice between his index and middle fingers, and slowly reached up to her mouth. With his thumb, he pulled her lip down, and pushed the slice of lime between her teeth. Her lips felt softer than anything, and he wanted nothing more than to explore that softness. But there was a dare afoot.

He salted the streak of wetness he had left on her, caught her eyes in his, and went back to her belly.

 

* * *

 

Marinette tasted lime and felt heat.

When Adrien bent down to her belly, so close to every part of herself she wanted to share with him, so reminiscent of her body shot from earlier, she smouldered. When she felt his tongue on her, she _blazed_.

Every millimeter he retraced along her stomach was a sizzling reminder of her enduring crush, his soft tongue tracing the curves of her body in miniature. His tongue licked salt from her and his eyes looked up through thick, model-perfect lashes, directly into hers. She could see the lime trembling as she held it between her lips.

After he had mapped the topography of her every nerve ending with a single swipe of his tongue, Adrien drew his face up her body, close enough for her to feel him letting out a slow, hot breath, but never touching. He gave a shuddering sigh as he passed her ribs and swooped over her breasts until his face was directly in front of hers.

Keeping his eyes open, he moved his lips closer to hers, and she closed her eyes for the feeling of his lips she knew she was about to feel.

Instead, she only felt the lime get tugged out from between her lips. Its presence had been forgotten in the long instant of Adriens ascent up her body.

Her eyes snapped open and she drew in a ragged breath. Adrien had withdrawn, sucking on the lime before taking a shot of tequila.

“You… did it out of order,” said Marinette, catching her breath.

Adrien unscrewed his face from the bite of the tequila and looked at her.

“Should I do another?” he asked. His tongue licked a spare drip of citrus off of his lips. A soft “woo hoo” came from the chaise, presumably directed at him.

“Um…” she began, uncertain how to indicate how thoroughly she wanted that. _Why involve salt and limes this time, Adrien? Just taste anything you--no. Bad Wine-Marinette_. “I might explode.”

From beneath the blanket on the chaise, a soft moan caught their attention. Alix had her mouth attached to Nino’s neck again, while Alya was steadily rocking back and forth under the covers, nibbling on the shorter girl’s ear. It wasn't clear who had moaned. The judge appeared to have abandoned her judicial duties, for the time being.

Sometime, in the infinite century of instants which composed the body shots, someone had dimmed the lights. The smart money was on Rose. Dark shapes in the corners and on the furniture writhed into each other. Marinette and Adrien, the only pair not currently writhing, became acutely aware of the gentle sighs and soft moans and sharp intakes of breath throughout the room. Sprawled teenages were doing their level best to survey the French Revolution _tout de suite_.

Marinette was suddenly very aware of the sheer volume and _pressure_ of Teen Antics going on about her. She leaned forward, curling up into herself where before she had been sprawled out for Adrien’s bodyshotting pleasure. Adrien had his hand on the back of his head again. This was still very new territory for him; he returned to his default defensive stance.

“Do you… want to give them a little privacy maybe?” he asked. “I don't really know where…”

“We could go to--”

“Hey Marinette I dare you to take Adrien up to your beddddddd,” mumbled Nino.

Marinette glanced down at her pajama pants, suddenly remembering how revealingly she had cut her ladybug panties. But was the game--

“...still in effect, so speaks Judge Alyaaahhhhhhnnnmmmm,” sighed Alya from the chaise. “Nino I dare you to keep going.”

Apparently, Alya had not abandoned her responsibilities. And a dare is a dare.

Their eyes met, and Marinette’s pulse stopped coming in individual beats and became a steady buzz in her veins. They looked away again. Throughout the room, the visual real estate was dominated by teens in compromising situations. The safest place to look was each other.

“Alya, you are seriously abusing the authorities of truth or dare judge,” said Marinette. The words fell out of her half-heartedly, more because she felt obliged to complain than she was truly distraught. She felt the trembling begin again, and realized she was nervously chewing the corner of a throw pillow.

A tentative hand rested itself on her (very bare) shoulder. She looked up to a supremely concerned-looking Adrien. They spoke at the same time.

“You don’t have to--” Adrien started.

“Do you want to--” Marinette began.

In a momentous process that took every eternity of several seconds, Marinette stood up, reaching her hand out to the love of her life.

“I’ll take that dare if you will,” she said.

In the dark, stepping over Rose and Juleka’s intertwined bodies, scooting around Ivan and Mylène gyrating onto each other, and ignoring the quiet cheers (interspersed with gasps) coming from the trio on the chaise, Marinette led Adrien up stairs to her lofted bed. She had never had company up here, not even Alya. Well, human company. Tikki didn’t count. Speaking of which, should she tell Tikki anything? It was a little late to put a sock on the doorknob…

Focus.

Adrien sat down on her bed, in the almost-darkness, still shirtless and slightly glistening from the body shot, or at least the concentrated power of fantasy. He curled up on himself a little, elbows resting on his knees.

“I haven’t ever… I never… this is new to me.” His phrase of the night.

“Me too,” replied Marinette. Her every intake of breath shook her body.

“We don’t have to--”

“I know I--”

“It’s fine I--”

They both stopped speaking for a moment. Nothing came out right.

Surrounded by friends (even friends distracted by their own private escapades) was one thing. Being alone with someone--be it someone who you had newly noticed, be it someone you had fallen for already--was very, very different. What a difference a dozen little white stairs can make.

The top level of the room was silent, but for the hushed sounds of teenage experimentation below. Alya apparently thought that her work was finally done, and had decided to focus on the hormone factories closer to hand--hands being a critical appendage for her, currently.

Time passed.

Marinette shifted uncomfortably. She was less than an arm’s length away from a boy in her bed who she had desperately wanted in her bed. And now Wine-Marinette was abandoning her--not to sobriety, just to uncertainty.

On the floor, she had felt confident and sexy and proud of how she could make him squirm, and now it was gone. Now they were two awkward virgins scoping out a floor full of their friends get the best kind of sweaty.

“Is this okay?” asked Marinette. Her voice was a whisper, not that the distracted classmates below would notice anything outside their most immediate senses.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I’ve just never…”

“Same,” said Marinette.

“We don’t have to…”

“I know. I… want to, though.”

“I do, too.” His reply was as soft as her confession. It was silent--at least between the two of them--for a while.

“What’s even wrong with us,” said Marinette, throwing herself backwards onto her curly cat pillow. “Worst teens ever.”

She paused for a moment, steeling herself.

“Um, Adrien?”

“Yes, Marinette?”

“...Truth or dare?”

Adrien’s heart pounded. In the brief, awkward seconds (minutes?) since he had joined Marinette in her loft, his pulse had barely had the chance to slow down. Now it was picking up the pace again.

“Dare.” The class representative, klutz, and fashionista Marinette Dupain-Cheng was just _maybe_ trying to get him naked. _Buh_ , he thought to himself, articulately.

“I dare you to lie down on the bed next to me so we don’t have to be awkwardly sitting on the edge anymore.”

Adrien hesitated. He had only had friends (plural) for a matter of months, and all he really knew about teenage girls he’d learned from Chloe’s affections. This wasn’t anything like her. Marinette wasn’t all over him--she was barely on him at all. They had only barely touched for the body shots. Those brief caresses had covered mere stripes of skin, and concentrated every neural impulse into an electrifying, minute area...but they had only been tiny, focused touches. They hadn't even touched lips, let alone kissed, when they traded the limes. But Adrien’s thumb had felt Marinette’s lower lip and knew how soft it felt. And he was _very_ interested in that softness.

Is this what seduction looked like? Or _should_ look like? _Not_ throwing yourself all over someone, all the time? Weird.

But good.

He scooted back, smiling to himself at the curling tiger pillow up against the wall. Adjusting himself so that he wouldn’t be silhouetting his downstairs-tent against the pink paint of the wall, he settled in. Marinette’s bed was soft and cool, and the pillow felt divine and homey. Everything about the room had a life and a feel to it that told him a story of how it came to be there. His room, in his house, for all its grandiosity, could be as sterile as a hospital, and just as unpleasant to visit.

Marinette lay down next to him, inches away, sharing the same cartoon tiger pillow. After the Monsieur Pigeon incident, she had replaced all of the feather stuffing in her pillows with quality synthetic, so that Adrien’s allergy wouldn’t interpose itself between her and the culmination of months of fantasy. She had never been so grateful to her past self for her foresight.

She rolled onto her side, looking at Adrien’s eyes. They were still vividly green, and still seemed to shine back at her.

And he was still half-naked.

“Truth or dare?” It was his turn, and there were only two players.

“Dare,” she replied.

In that moment, Marinette was churning. Her inhibitions--so aggressively present since a certain umbrella had closed on her face months before--had been adeptly smothered by a long night of drinking, and her various appetites were making themselves known. But she was new to this, almost as much as Adrien was, and that which is unknown is frightening. Her inhibitions, adeptly knocked over the head and dumped into an alley by Wine-Marinette, were not doing their very core job of keeping her away from that terrifying uncertainty.

Adrien had no idea how much power he had over her in this moment. Marinette trembled, still deeply in the game, knowing that his answer could push her farther than she had ever gone outside of her vivid, nigh-constant private fantasy life.

“I dare you to pull the blanket over us. I...think we’re both a little cold.”

_Oh. He was cold and just wanted to keep warm. What a gentlemanly dare…_

_And of course maybe he’ll want to cuddle close to keep warm and wrap his hands around me and…_

_Wait--did he mean my_ tetons _got all pokey? And hadn’t all of the action down on the floor really started after Alya and Nino had gotten under a blanket?_

Unable to help herself, she checked her bust for pointy bits, finding none. She followed that peek with a glance to the main space of the room. A susurrus of moans and sighs still melted up the loft to her ears.

Adrien had seen her looks, and he turned as red as she felt.

“I didn’t mean your-- that you were-- or that w-we have to--I just--you’re not--we don’t have to--I--” he started, a few times.

Marinette tugged her comforter up and over both of them. This was Adrien. As awkward and new and insecure about regular teen things as she was obsessed with him. If anyone was taking advantage of anyone, it was Marinette. Or potentially Alya, down below.

Well… it was definitely Alya, and potentially Marinette.

The fluffy blanket settled over them, and they scooted a fraction closer to each other.

“It’s fine, I-I don’t mind.”  His blush receded a little, and he smiled. Briefly, that glow of his smile made even his eyes seem dim. “I know you’re very upright.” The blush came back, as both Adrien and Marinette realized the particular ways Adrien was currently _very upright_. “I MEAN UH--upstanding? Aaagh, um. Gentlemanly?”

After a frantic moment of trying to find something to distract from her inadvertent Adriection reference, Marinette settled on the evening standby.

“So… truth or dare?” she asked.

“Is a truth okay?”

“Of course.”

“Truth, then.”

Time for a big gamble.

“Have you ever kissed anyone? I mean... _really_ kissed?” _Way to bring it up, Dupain-Cheng. Get it on the agenda. Get his mind on the topic of kissing. Nice._

“No.”

Marinette’s heart raced. Adrien Agreste, billboard model and teen heartthrob worldwide, had never been kissed?

More importantly: _Marinette_ could be his first kiss? The idea was almost too surreal to be true. As quietly as possible, Marinette started vibrating at the speed of light and disintegrating into her component parts. After a brief eternity, she managed to reassemble herself. She even managed to reply.

“I’m really surprised, I thought Chloe would have managed to sneak one in somewhere.” _What? Why are you bringing up Chloe? Damn it!_

“Well,” said Adrien, hand instinctively going to the back of his head. “She’s tried a few times…”

“A few?”

“A few times per day.” They smiled together. “But the closest I ever came was when you were going to be Mylène’s stand in. You know when...we all got captured by the Horrificator.”

Marinette gasped a little bit, trying to play it off like a regular breath, and almost succeeding. She had been _so_ close.

“Truth or dare?” Adrien asked.

“Truth, too.”

“What about you? Have you ever really kissed someone?”

That question, turned back to her, was a little complex. A little debatable. For Marinette’s purposes, she and Ladybug were different people. Definitely. The Dark Cupid incident didn’t count--at least not for Marinette. Plus, it was for Akuma control, and everyone knows that doesn’t count. There were _so_ many ways in which it didn’t count, at all.

“I’m the same as you. The closest I ever got was with you, for the movie. And we got interrupted,” she answered, pretty much not lying.

“By Chloe.”

“By Chloe.” Foutre _. Topic change. Don’t bring up Chloe. Don’t think about Chloe._

_Best topic: truth or dare. Yes, good. Good distraction, focus on the kiss part. Good job, Marinette. Thank you, Marinette._

“Truth or dare?” she asked.

“Truth.”

_St. Alya give me strength in this time of thirst._

“Is there anyone in our class you’d...consider kissing?” _Hint, hint. Wink, wink._ All of Marinette’s considerable mental energy focused on projecting powerful psychic hints towards Adrien. If this worked, she would _really_ have to spend less mental energy on animated paranoia cutscenes.

Adrien definitely blushed.

“I’m… considering someone very hard right now.”

 _Hard, you say?_ thought Marinette. _Ha, what a totally inappropriate joke to--_

“Hard, you say?” asked Marinette. _Dammit, Wine-Marinette. Why are you so saucy._

“...shut up, maybe…” mumbled Adrien. “I'm dewy fresh and new to this.”

 _But you don’t have to be any more. No, Wine-Marinette, you have been naughty._ “Me too. Brand new. But you have to tell me who it is.” Marinette did her best innocent-puppy-dog-eyes impression. “It’s the rules.”

“Um but that’s the thing…” said Adrien. “It's going to sound so dumb…”

“I’m expanding my truth to include that you have to tell me what sounds so dumb,” declared Marinette. Wine Marinette was feeling confident.

“You fiend. Okay. Promise not to laugh.”

“Promise.” _Anything, just kiss me already, seriously._

“I kind of feel like… this is so stupid… I want to save myself for Ladybug?”

_Oh._

_Oh wow._

Marinette’s mind, now that wine had washed some of the doors open, helpfully suggested some of her favorite personal narratives related to just such an encounter. Ever since the Jackady incident had demonstrated to Marinette that Adrien a) showered a lot (it’s the model in him), and b) had a lot of openable windows in his extremely large room, she had given some serious consideration to an entirely non-critical use of her miraculous. She hadn’t exactly floated the idea to Tikki yet, but with a suitable supply of baked goods, the little red kwami could be pretty pliable.

_...Just like Adrien would be, in her spotted gloves when she--_

_Easy, Wine-Marinette. One step at a time. Gotta refocus Adrien for Sinister Purposes_.

“Adrien…”

“Mm?”

“You might be taking this celebrity crush thing a liiiiiittle too far,” Marinette lied. “Your celebrity crush is a freebie. They don’t count. So imagine someone you might _like_ to kiss, and imagine very, very clearly that Ladybug wouldn’t mind even a little bit.”

_I have it on extremely good authority that Ladybug wouldn’t mind at all, and in fact would do whatever the opposite of minding is._

… Sacre merde, _should I drop by his place as Ladybug and be my own wingman? Alya would be so proud._

_Okay seal the deal._

“So… now that we’ve established that you don’t need to save yourself for Ladybug… who do you think about kissing?”

Adrien quite liked this new and confident and talkative Marinette.

“In that case,” Adrien started. “There’s a certain girl who sits behind me…”

“Go on…”

“Who I got to know a lot better recently…”

“Say it…”

“And who sounds like she also has the hots for Ladybug…”

“Who could it be…” Marinette smiled to herself. She felt herself almost start bouncing as she waited for him to keep going.

“Uh…” Adrien faltered. “Do we keep going? I don’t know if it would ruin the fun to admit it.”

“Adrien, I doubt you could ruin anything right now.” _Except my chaste virtue, which you_ should _be doing right now._

“Well… I haven’t really done this before but… I think I would really like to kiss you.”

“Mmm, good,” Marinette hummed, scooting a little closer to him. “That’s very good.” She could feel the heat from his body on her face. The closest she’d ever been to him, on purpose, without accidentally slamming into his body.

_How about some very deliberate slamming, my sweet little--_

“Truth or dare?”

 _Dammit Agreste_. “Truth.”

“What about you?”

“Do I really need to spell it out for you, Adrien?”

“Yes.”

“Well there’s this boy…”

“Okay I also dare you to skip the flirty deflections, as much as I love them.”

 _Dammit_ . _Honesty about my emotions. My only weakness._

“It’s you.” _Oh hey, thanks, wine!_

Months and months. Marinette had desperately kept her crush on Adrien a secret for months and months, never directly admitting to him that she wanted to feel his perfect lips. She had committed various misdemeanors throughout the school year, specifically to hide the fact that she was crushing on him. She had gone through _most_ of an adolescent party sitting right _next_ to him without letting it slip.

But rules are rules. Truth, or take a drink. And there wasn't anything to drink in Marinette’s bed (regardless of the thirst), so the truth had come out. The big secret, finally revealed. The world hadn't ended, Adrien hadn't spurned her, both of them could _keep going._

Except now, neither knew what exactly to do with themselves. New territory, no matter how tempting, is always a little bit scary.

It was quiet, except for the escapades of the more socially adept teens below. What now?

“Um… truth or dare, Adrien.”

“D-dare.” Hopeful boy.

 _Now’s your chance, Marinette. Alya’s plan has all fallen into place. You’ve had a good time, he’s had a good time, everyone got to see Alix’s boobs, they were very nice, people are making out. You’ve talked about kissing. You’ve talked about kissing_ each other _. Perfect. You’re drunk enough to not be that awkward, and he’s drunk enough to probably go for it and…_

...

 _Oh god_ dammit _._

Sometimes one realizes that one has messed something up, or that the _merde_ is about to hit the _ventilateur_ , and the only thing left to do is swear in a different language. Marinette’s “goddammit” channeled all of the frustration of seeing a plot click perfectly into place, only to realize that it could never succeed, because it was fundamentally flawed from the beginning.

Their first kiss couldn’t be when they were soused. That was unacceptable, on all levels, and now she realized it.  The love of one’s life (especially a flawless being named Adrien Agreste, who is also the perfect body shot medium) does not deserve to be sloppily made-out-with for a first kiss.

 _I’m too drunk. He’s too drunk. We’ve never been drunk before. Kissing him now is just… forcing my lips onto his, and not in a good way. It would just make me like_ … Marinette shuddered. … _Chloe._

 _No. Never! I will never be like Chloe! I will_ never _treat Adrien like she does._

Internally, Marinette wiped away a tear at the sacrifice she had made. Wine-Marinette internally cursed Marinette-Marinette, because how _dare_ she throw this chance away, but sober Marinette was adamant. No parallel, no matter how tenuous, was acceptable if it made her like Chloe. Marinette was better than that. Adrien didn’t deserve that.

“I dare you to kiss me when neither of us are drunk.”

 _First of all how dare you,_ thought Wine-Marinette.

 _Look, we’ll talk about this later,_ thought Marinette-Marinette. _I don’t have time for a 2-d animated cutscene about this. I need to do damage control. We--wait, I--need to kiss Adrien because he wants to kiss me, not because we have to! Go away, Wine-Me._

She curled herself up, pressing her head against his chest and repeatedly bonking herself in the forehead with her fist. _Dammit_.

 

* * *

 

Adrien felt his body stiffen, but in a different way.

“I dare you to kiss me when neither of us are drunk,” Marinette had said.

_Great job, Adrien, you got this girl drunk and you almost made her first kiss be all drunk and gross with a dude she doesn’t even know that well. How dare you, Wine-Adrien? How dare you?_

Of course he’d mess it up. Coming on too strong to Marinette, making her uncomfortable, pretty much _inviting_ himself up into her bed. Ugh, god _dammit_ , he couldn’t even believe himself.

“Marinette, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I--”

“What? No! No, this is all me! I don’t want _you_ to have to--”

“I know it’s no excuse but I just don’t know how to act around--”

“I just want to make sure it’s perfect and--”

They stopped, trying to sort out their most recent apology from the other’s most recent apology. Marinette sorted it out first.

“Wait, hold on. Why are you apologizing?” She reached out to Adrien’s wrist, tugging him back down into the bed. Silly boy had been trying to escape, which was _not_ the plan.

“Uh… because I’m sorry?”

“No, what are you sorry for?” What a change; drinking made Marinette capable of actually speaking with her flawless soulmate. Potentially, this was the only time in history when alcohol made a problem _easier_ to understand. _Thanks again, Wine-Marinette_. “You didn’t do anything wrong, you have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I… I was pressuring you into kissing me, because I wanted to kiss you, and I’m drunk and…” he trailed off. He’d _foutred_ up, and he knew it. If Marinette wanted to let him off easy, she was the gentlest soul in existence.

“Um… Adrien? I was definitely trying to pressure _you_ into kissing me.”

“What?!”

“Yeah. Yes. But that’s not fair to you.”

“I… I don’t understand.”

Marinette sighed. How dare she do this to herself. It wouldn’t really be that bad to have your first kiss be drunk, right? That’s probably okay.

_Ugh. No. Still feels too much like Chloe._

“Okay Adrien, listen up, because I probably can’t manage to be this honest when I’m sober.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Shh. I’m being very brave.” Marinette took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Looking at him was going to make it much too hard.

“I feel like if I try to kiss you when you’re drunk, it makes me like Chloe. Like I’m trying to do something to you when you’re not sure you like it. Like how Chloe does.”

Adrien drew back, startled. “What? You’re--that’s--we--you’re nothing like Chloe.”

 _Thank you, Adrien_. “I know she’s your friend, but she can be a real pest.”

Adrien was quiet for a while. He sighed. Had she gone too far?

“She’s… just Chloe. That’s how she is. I’m not interested, but that hasn’t stopped her. I don’t like how she treats people, and I especially don’t like how she treats you.” He looked up through the skylight. “But for a long time, she was the only friend I had. Horrible as she can be, that still means something.”

“Do you have any idea how good you are?” Marinette managed to open her eyes back up, and look at him.

“What?” He blinked his eyes, not putting it together.

“Just--to stick with her. It’s good of you. Even if I don’t like her, I do hope that she can learn how to act, from someone like you.”  
  
“Oh. I…” He looked back at Marinette. “I… no one’s ever said something like that to me. Even Nino mostly just… well I guess it’s different for guy friendships, maybe. But… thank you.”

Marinette scooted closer to him, curling her head down into his chest.

“See, this is why we can’t kiss right now.”

“Why?”

“Because we wouldn't forgive ourselves for taking advantage of each other drunkenly. Dammit.”

Adrien thought about it. It was hard, as Wine-Adrien was shouting at him to focus on kissing again.

But, unsurprisingly, Marinette was right. She was good at that.

“This might be weird but, um… rain check?” he asked.

“Please let’s have a rain check.”

“O-okay.”

“I’ll write you a coupon.”

“What’s a coupon?”

 _Oh right, rich homeschool boy. Kind of adorable that he doesn’t know basic stuff_. “Uh… I’ll write you a… bearer bond?”

“Oh. Oh! Okay. Yes. Yes. Thank you, Marinette.”

For a few minutes, they just lay there, being warm and awkward and comfortable and a little uncomfortable with each other. But Wine-Marinette had to at least plant her flag on _one_ of these available hills, so to speak.

“Adrien?” He looked down at her, meeting her gaze and she looked up from his chest.. “Would you like to g-get some c-c-coffee or s-something s-somet-time?” Of course the _foutu_ stutter comes back when you _actually ask him out_ , Marinette.

“Y-yeah, I w-would.” Was Adrien doing it too? “I’m g-going to h-hold you t-t-to that e-even though we’re drunk right now.”

“Deal,” said Marinette.

...Would it always have been that easy, and that fast? Adrien had said yes to a date, just like that.

“Wait, even better. Truth or dare? Say dare.” Adrien had scooted up onto his elbow and was looking down at her. In any situation where they had not just agreed to not kiss, that would have been ideal. _Yes, loom over me you perfect creature. Loom._

“Uh, dare?” Marinette replied, pushing her fantasies aside for the moment.

“I dare you to go out with me for coffee sometime and it counts and you do it in the future even though we’re drunk right now.”

“Yes! Yes. I very much accept this dare.” Marinette made a mental note to thank Alya with an infinite supply of croissants for suggesting the brilliant and perfect game which is Truth or Dare. Adrien had _counter-dared_ her to _definitely_ get coffee. Alya needs 20,000 croissants.

Additionally, Alya was going to be so proud. And given that Marinette had a rate to maintain, she might be especially proud of Wine-Marinette’s Plan B.

“Hey Adrien? It’s my turn right? Truth or dare.”

“D-dare.”

Marinette didn’t know that it was a real thing for actual, alive human boys to make an unintentional gulping sound as they swallowed, purely because of nerves. She was learning a lot about Adrien, today, and nervous boys in general.

“So… bear with me…” she cleared her throat and looked away from his eyes. Wine-Marinette would not be denied everything.

“So…” she tried to continue.

“So?”

“So, we shouldn’t kiss right now, because we agree that kissing is important.”

“Yes, very important.” He nodded. Everyone on the same page, re: kissing. First one shouldn’t be drunk, capacity for informed consent, etc. Very important. Not going to diminish that.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Not at all,” he agreed.

“Everyone here in this bed agrees, we should definitely kiss later, when we are not drunk.” _Please say yes please say yes._

“D-definitely.”

 _Yessssss,_ thought Marinette _. And he’s doing the stutter thing again. So cute._

“B-but things that aren’t necessarily kissing are also things that exist.”

“Uh… yes?”

“Just putting that out there. To think about.”

“Okay, Marinette, I'm thinking about that.”

As if to punctuate, a startlingly loud moan erupted from below them. Marinette and Adrien froze up, instinctively looking over their shoulders towards the source and sucking in a breath as the sound tapered off into muffled, heavy breathing. Other things definitely exist.

Adrien looked back at Marinette, who was studiously avoiding his eyes.

“Uh… I may be definitely thinking about that, now.” Even in the dark, Adrien looked like he'd turned a Marinette-worthy red.

“I… maybe not… I didn’t mean like…” she started. “I don’t think I’m…”

“I don’t think I’m ready to get on Alix’s level either,” said Adrien, taking a guess. _She’s always seemed like she might be a moaner,_ he thought to himself, followed shortly by _, what the hell Agreste, get your mind out of the gutter._

Marinette, of course, was rather fond of the gutter.

“Neither am I. Not drunk. Not without candles.” Marinette had a series of very specific scenarios in mind for her first time, but almost all of them involved candles, and a view of the Eiffel Tower, and an elaborate croquembouche. But Adrien didn’t need to know all that. Yet. “Maybe a glass of wine or two,” added Wine-Marinette.

“But…” she continued, hesitating on the dismount.

“Yes?”

“As we all sort of… admitted… there’s other stuff to do that’s not necessarily… doesn’t necessarily involve other people. Much. Or kissing.”

Adrien, who was as pure as the driven snow and also mostly home-schooled and drunk, was confused.

“I don’t get--” but Marinette cut him off, speaking a little too fast.

“Remember Alya’s dare that you turned down?”

“Yeah…” Hard to forget being asked to glaze your pastry in front of your only friends. _Oh… Is she going to…?_

“W-would you be willing to…” She trailed off.

He blinked expectantly.

“Um...do that dare now?”

“Would I be willing to? That sounds like a truth, Marinette. I said dare.”

 _Whoa! Wine-Adrien, what the hell?_ Thought Adrien-Adrien.

Marinette flushed. Suddenly, the comforter seemed too warm--and also like it might obstruct her view.

“I dare you to… p-play with yourself. Under the sheet is fine! Y-you don’t have to--”

“So I have to either take off some clothing… or play with myself.” _Seriously, where did this come from, Wine-Adrien. You’re really laying it on thick. She’s probably going to tell me to stop and--_

Marinette covered her face with her hands, but nodded. “And keep going until you… um… you know…”

“Until what, Marinette?”

“‘Til you _n-noixx…_ f-for me...” She peered through her fingers, unable to believe the words she’d said, and unable to believe how she’s managed to curl up so close to his body..

As she peeped out from behind her hands, Adrien’s eyes were already locked onto hers. His mouth was a little open and he was breathing more heavily than he had been. She had started to mumble an apology--she wasn't sure whether to blame Wine-Marinette or Thirst-Marinette or someone else--but he interrupted her.

“Absolutely.”

Marinette’s pulse became a steady hum again, and her mouth opened in an involuntary pant. _I can’t believe that worked_.

Adrien was going to play with himself. Because of her. She’d asked him--dared him--to masturbate, and he was going to. She felt a slick heat low inside herself, and a familiar rush of need. 

“But you have to do a truth and a dare from me.”

 _Anything_. “Anything. I mean--yes. Okay. Deal.”

“Truth: How many times have you masturbated today?”

“Only…” she thought about her day, counting as she went through hour-by-hour. “Four.”

The word “only” meant different things, to different people, she’d found out.

“I dare you to keep up your average.”

Marinette felt the lingering sizzle of heat left over from Adrien’s tongue on her belly flare up, and migrate south. It had company from the sudden vivid recollection of Adrien’s abdominal geography, of which she had been such an adroit tongue-cartographer. She felt herself melting into the bed, rendered boneless by an extremely desirable proposition from a very beautiful young man. Finally, _finally,_ she was collapsing into a puddle for some reason _other_ than embarrassment.

Wordlessly--not trusting herself to use language--Marinette nodded.

“I’m going to need to take my pants off.”

Marinette nodded harder.

“Are you going to--”

Marinette interrupted him by kicking off her pajama bottoms with a desperate energy. Adrien was breathing heavily, similarly trying to remove his pants with a tiny modicum of grace, and failing.

“I don't want to… all over your bed…”

He had _no_ idea how fine Marinette would be with that… But he had a point. She considered her _noixx_ -interception options, reaching down behind her.

“Do you have some tissues or…”

She balled up her pajama pants and pushed them into his chest. A worthy sacrifice. She had others, and she didn’t want him to glaze her ladybug panties--not when it was too dark to watch.

…

_Damn, maybe Alya’s right about how thirsty I am._

_..._

_Whatever--Adrien jerking off time._

“U-use this.”

“M-Marinette…”

He reached out a hand to her and cupped her cheek in his palm. She pressed her face into it, feeling his warmth as he held her, touching her--finally--as more than just the girl who sat behind him. She reached out to him, wrapping her hand around the back of his neck and twining her fingers in his hair.

“I dare you to look in my eyes the whole time,” she whispered.

He nodded, vigorously. His gaze was locked with hers. The boy could handle a dare.

She could feel the subtle vibrations as the bed began to rock with his movements. Her free hand traced down her body, rushing past her normal sensual aperitif, in complete obeisance to the crushing need between her legs.

Adrien was here, in her bed. He only had his boxers on. And he was playing with himself, looking directly at her. And he was going to cum in the crotch of her favorite pair of pajama pants.

(To be honest, he could have finished himself off in any of her pajama pants and they would become her favorite)

She almost detonated before she made it to the Directory with herself. Somehow, she held back enough enjoy things more fully. At a stately pace.

Marinette slipped her fingers past the elastic band of her panties and gasped at how hot and slick she found herself. With desperate speed, she traced her fingertips around her bijou, her normal patterns forgotten as she locked eyes with a boy she had loved from afar, who was suddenly very, very close.

The last hours had all been foreplay for this moment, eye to eye with the boy she had been dreaming of since a fortuitous thunderstorm. Throughout the whole evening, by instinct, her eyes had skipped to all the places his picture had hung, before she’d taken them down for the party. And now, she was in an extremely risqué situation with Adrien Agreste. And they had dared each other to go on a date sometime.

All in all? Pretty good party.

There was only one thing left to do to push this panting, beautiful idol over the edge, and know that she, as Marinette, had worked him into this pleasure.

“I’m wearing my matching ladybug panties.”

Adrien’s eyes grew wider and greener, and his body arched backwards, then forwards, curling in on itself as he gasped out four, five, six syllables of wordless, ecstatic release.

His climax triggered Marinette’s own, on its first heaving tremble and rush of ragged breath. She did her best to stifle a moan, biting her lip to keep quiet. Intent to not break eye contact, she couldn’t muffle herself with the pillow. Even with her efforts, she felt herself almost keening, unable to contain the sweeping waves of pleasure radiating out from her depths, the high buzz of parallel passion roiling into something indescribably _more_. As she and Adrien writhed, the hand she had caught up in his hair reflexively pulled him close, and they both peaked, insensate from sensation, foreheads pressed together, close enough to kiss, eyes still helplessly bound to each other.

For a moment, they stayed there, touching at the forehead, catching their breath. By mutual silent agreement they closed their eyes to ride the aftershocks of a core-shaking release. It could have been minutes, or hours, or years, before Adrien broke the silence.

“I’m sorry about your pajamas,” he whispered.

“Don’t be.” _Also stop apologizing_.

Marinette opened her eyes to see Adrien already looking at her.

“I know I’m drunk and a hopeless homeschool case, but that was amazing.”

“I know I’m drunk and a nervous klutz around you most of the time, but that was _really_ amazing.”

They sighed into each other. Two pairs of eyes blinked and tried to focus.

“Adrien, I can almost promise you that I will be incredibly embarrassed about this tomorrow,” stated Marinette, “But I want you to know that I consider myself extremely self-aware right now and that this was really great and maybe this could happen again and also I really want to get that coffee with you and I really want to kiss you when I’m not drunk and I hope that’s okay with you sometime, there’s no rush but you’re so sweet and beautiful and good and…” She ran out of words, having said too many already.

“I thought you hated me, you know.”

“What?!” _What sorcery is this?_

“After the gum thing, and then you barely spoke to me, and it was always so awkward…”

“Oh _mon dieu_ , no…”

“But I always thought you were pretty great, and it turns out I barely knew you.”

“Yeah, I uh… may have been a little intimidated by my… huge… crushonyou sorry I don't want to make it weird!” Night of _foutu_ revelations. _Wine, what have you done? What wonders and horrors do you unleash?_

 _… And would it_ seriously _have been this easy to just say it!?_

“What? No! No, it’s fine. I am extremely mellow in this moment.” Adrien looked like his blood pressure was in the negatives. He reclined, boneless. A dramatic improvement over his _highly_ worked-up state, from earlier.

“Me, too,” said Marinette, sighing herself closer to him.

“I think I owe wine a thank-you note for introducing Real Marinette to me.”

“What? What do you mean? Wine-Marinette is not like me at all!”

“Are you seriously telling me Alya would be your best friend, if you weren’t a sassy, self-assured, confident little firecracker yourself? I never saw that until drinks showed up on the scene. So thank you, Mademoiselle Wine.”

“You call her Mme. Wine, too?”

“Oh thank god that just slipped out--”

“Doesn’t everyone personify their consumed alcohol somehow?”

“I have no idea! I’ve never been drunk! It’s great!”

“Yeah! Whoa! Oh.” A thought struck her. “Ohh… what if I can’t get back to this? What if I can’t talk to you without wine!? I’ll die penniless and alone, a lush, a pauper on the streets!”

“Shhh now. You broke the seal. I’m sure you’ll be fine. We still have that coffee we have to get.”

“You’ll really do it? Even if it’s a drunken dare?”

“If nothing else, Marinette, we can talk about how great Ladybug is.”

Blink blink. _A date specifically to talk about how into me you are? Do go on._

“You know… that sounds like a really good idea.”

They were quiet for a little while, looking at each other in that uncertain haze that two people share right before they turn a friendship into something more.

“Marinette… truth or dare?”

“Dare?”

“Can we cuddle and go to sleep?”

“Both Wine Marinette and I agree to this dare. Do you want to be _le grande cuillere_? Please say yes. Wait I dare you to be the big spoon.”

“What’s that mean? Homeschool shut-in, remember.”

“It means,” said Marinette, “...this”

Marinette turned away from him--potentially the hardest thing she had ever done--and backed up into the curve of his body. Adrien, like a true gentleman, had disposed of the pajama-pants-cum-cum-rag somewhere. She got a little thrill as she pressed herself against him, feeling the lingering effects of their mutual self-satisfaction bulge against her.

Awkwardly, not used to human touch, Adrien put his arm around her midsection, holding her close, but not tight. Romantically, but not erotically--his hands in a perfectly gentlemanly location.

“Is this okay?”

“It's perfect, _mon cher_.”

His breath was coming a little faster now.

“Can I ask you something? Then I'll go to sleep.”

“Anything. This is where Wine Marinette wanted to be all night.”

“Are you really wearing ladybug panties?”

_Just take them off and show them to him, Marinette. Do it. Seal the deal._

_No, Wine-Marinette. No._

_...I’ll save that for later._

“I tell you what. If you ask nicely, and I’m not so embarrassed I die, I’ll show you in the morning.”

She yawned, and stretched against him. He caught the yawn, and stretched back. Had it been any earlier, or had they not just spent themselves like a Gabriel intern at the fabric store, the movement of skin against skin might have led to more. But it was late, and they were drunk, and the seven interwoven moans from the floor had migrated into seven coordinated snores.

“And now, _cher_ Adrien, I dare you to fall asleep with me here and have it be a perfect end to the night.”

Before she had finished whispering, Adrien was snoring comfortably into her hair, and by the time she noticed, Marinette had joined him.

 

* * *

 

Most Akuma attacks happened during the day, once there had been enough time for someone to get furious, or despondent, or bitter. Most Akuma attacks also happened during the warmer months. But the Hipsteur was not like most Akuma.

“ _Hipsteur_ , wouldn’t it be ironic to completely reinvent the authentic heart of the city? I’ll give you that power, but you have to do a little unpaid internship for me… Get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s Miraculouses, and you can be the first to check out my new world!”

“I’ll make sure Paris is a city you probably haven’t heard of, Papillon!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! What a poorly timed Akuma attack! Sure hope that doesn't happen all the time!
> 
> So: underage drinking is kind of a thing for this fic, as you may have noticed. Nothing about any of the drinking or flirting or fuckery in here is written or intended to be in any way non-consensual. This is very important to me, and should be important to everyone. The characters know what's going on, want what's happening to happen, are not getting incapacitated, and are in general having a really good time.


	9. In Which There Is Gambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude in which Tikki and Plagg pass the time, and certain wagers are placed. Plagg is revealed to have poor planning skills, and Tikki is, of course, very lucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little bullshit scene between the kwami, because I love them. For me it mostly serves as a mental break between the party and what comes next. Get Excite.
> 
> EDIT: It's a Lycée, not a Collége! Correcting that throughout.

 

Tikki and Plagg perched across from each other on the tail end of Marinette’s tiger pillow, playing a tiny game of kwami poker. Tikki sighed and raked in the pot, pushing her cards over to Plagg to shuffle. He picked the miniature cards up and shuffled them. Quite a feat for a miniature supernatural cat without any thumbs. 

“Do you think we should just tell them, Plagg?” She trusted Plagg to know what she was talking about. Revealing their holders’ identities was always a major part of kwamversations between them, over the years. “They’ve gotten pretty… close.”

“What? And ruin my bet with Wayzz? Heck no.” He dealt out another hand of Texas Hold ‘Em, or as they say in Texas, “Hold ‘Em.” 

“What did you bet?”

“A Camembert hoard the size of Adrien for me if Adrien gets revealed first; enough stamps to cover Marinette’s whole face if she gets revealed first.” Plagg spoke as dealt the cards. 

“What?!? Plagg, you bet against your own Miraculous holder?” The flop came up all hearts, like it usually did when Tikki played.

“Absolutely, absolutely. You should see this kid. Practically begging to get exposed. Must be because he’s a model.” Not even glancing at his cards, Plagg bet his second-largest ball of lint. His pile of gambling debris was getting smaller by the hand. Finding a miniature deck of cards was relatively easy; finding a set of miniature poker chips wasn’t.

“And Wayzz is still into stamps? That’s sweet, I didn't know he was still collecting.” Tikki checked her hole cards: king of hearts, queen of hearts. Apropos.

“They’re no Camembert, Tikki, remember that. Don’t you ever forget that stamps are not Camembert.”

Tikki thought for a moment before betting one of her small pile of buttons. She was pretty confident that Plagg wasn’t bluffing, and also didn’t know how to.

“What if they both get revealed at the same time?”

“Well it’s a gentlekwami’s agreement, Spots. We’d probably just call it even.  _ Merde _ . I fold.”

Tikki raked in her pot: buttons, pins, and scraps of twine. Basic kwami currency, if your miraculous holder is a seamstress. They mostly played with gum and discarded croissants and pencil lead, floating under the desks at formerly-Collége-currently-Lycée Francois-DuPont; there's only so interesting a history lesson can be to an aeon-old kwami, and only so much even Plagg could sleep. The little red kwami normally won. She was, after all, very lucky. 

And she so rarely got a chance to gamble once Fu had moved out of Monaco. 

“I’ll take that bet.”

“You just won.”

“I mean I’ll take the bet that they get revealed at the same time! Marinette first, Wayzz wins. Adrien first, you win. Same time, I win.”

“It’s pretty telling that we’re all betting on them inadvertently revealing themselves.”

“Well, we did hammer the ‘no-one-can-know’ thing pretty hard, at first.”

“Yeah,” agreed Plagg. “They’re basically good kids, but they’re dumb enough it’s inevitable.”

“I mean, how long is our record, anyway? For keeping their identities secret to each other? Like two years?”

“And neither of them was a famous model. Then there’s that one pair that didn’t even make it an hour.”

“New Yorkers, right?”

“Riiiight.”

They both nodded their comically oversized heads knowingly, bobbling with wisdom and experience. Tikki dealt the next hand.

“And what’s your prize?” asked Plagg.

“Master Fu’s weight in cookies.”

“You can just get those from Marinette.”

“Well,  _ you _ can get Camembert from Adrien all you want! It’s the principle of the thing.”

“Fine, fine. Why you want stamps or cookies when you  _ could _ be eating Camembert is beyond me.”

“There’s more to life than cheese.”

“You bite your tongue!”

“It’s true! How much time do you spend being a sympathetic confidante to Adrien, even?”

“I don’t know! Like, fifteen minutes a day, tops. I have my own style.”

Tikki furrowed her tiny red brow and huffed, producing a sound like a mouse fart, but quieter. “Your style is dumb, you should pretty much always be encouraging your Miraculous holder. We’ve been over this.”

“Ugh, Tikki, TIKKI. That’s now how destruction  _ works _ .” 

“Try it! It’s nice. Adrien seems so sweet, you should tease him less.”

“UGH, FINE. If you win this hand I will.” Plag furrowed his brow and collected his cards, growling at them and mumbling to himself. 

“Let’s make it more interesting. Loser has to say nice things about the winner’s Miraculous holder to the loser’s Miraculous holder, AND you have to be nice to Adrien.”

“Hey wouldn’t that mean that even if I win--”

“Well you didn’t,” said Tikki, spreading out her cards. Royal flush, hearts. Again. Of course.

“Son of a--” started Plagg, looking at a mismatched hand of random values. One of his cards didn’t even have a  _ suit _ . “Fine. I’ll be nice to Adrien  _ and _ tell him how great Marinette is. He already knows, it won’t matter, he already thought she was great. He’s just weird about it. Additionally, tough love, school of hard knocks, that kinda thing.” Plagg began sorting his remaining tidbits of teenage room-flotsam into piles, then thought better of it, and mashed his remaining bank into an undifferentiated hodgepodge. 

“Ugh, come on Plagg, get organized.”

“He got her autograph, Tikki! Her autograph. And in return, I have  _ barely _ encouraged him to sneakily find out who Ladybug is. 

“And you should stop! That’s both cheating  _ and _ cheating against yourself.”

_ Oh right _ , thought Plagg. “Ugh, I forget, can I help it? It was right after a transformation.”

“Serves you right for betting on who gets  _ revealed _ and not who finds  _ out _ .”

“Huh… good point.”

Tikki shuffled the cards, expertly riffling the cards through her nubby little hands. Even though he did the same thing (and generally produced more random shuffles, too), Plagg wasn’t sure how she managed to do that without thumbs. And he certainly didn’t know how she managed to deal from the bottom of the deck, which he pretended not to notice. And he definitely didn’t know how she managed cut the deck one-handed. 

“Anyways, it’s a good thing I always win. If I started telling Marinette how great Adrien was any more, she’d probably explode.”

“True. It’s amazing how oblivious Adrien can be, but I try and try.”

“ _ J’accuse _ . You barely try, and only because you have to, because I win all the time.”

“Fine. You got me. You found out the secret, I, Plagg, am lazy.” 

“Shouldn’t be long now, at least,” said Tikki, glancing over at Marinette and Adrien, still curled up and snoring on the bed. “They did that human personal massage thing together, which seems to be so important. Especially to Marinette.” 

“Tell me about it, Adrien loves it too. Almost always with the Ladyblog up.”

“Plagg! Weird!”

“It’s not me! They’re all like this when they’re teenagers. Granted, it’s easier to look at screens than hold up etched Greek pottery…”

“I still can’t believe that one.”

“He dropped so many urns…”

“And my Ladybugs have developed some pretty strong yo-yo wrists, too.”

“Tikki…” started Plagg. This was verging on pretty personal kwami-holder history. “How… how is it that we always get such accomplished masturbators for our chosen?

Tikki just shook her head. Some mysteries were hidden even to her. Maybe Master Fu would know. In the meantime, she won another hand. One more day of Plagg being nice to Adrien. Which is to say, one more day of Plagg forgetting to be nice to Adrien.

“Do you think they’ll be angry when they find out we know their secret?” asked Tikki.

“Oh probably,” replied Plagg. “They’ll be more angry with themselves for being so oblivious.”

“I don’t want Marinette angry with me!”

“She’ll get over it. It’s obvious that we’re sneaky, mysterious magical creatures. Adrien thought I was the genie, first day.”

“That guy? No way.”

“Seriously.”

“Marinette thought I was a mouse-roach.”

“Ha! I’ll take that over a solid three centuries of being mistaken for a witch’s familiar.” Plagg gave an involuntary shudder. Chat Noir and he had spent more time escaping burning stakes that century than anyone should.

“Heh. The first year is always the most dramatic.” 

“Think they’ll settle down if they start mating? Is this where humans would raise their eyebrows suggestively? Imagine I’m doing that, I’m too lazy to actually do it.

“Probably. They usually do. Of course, you heard about their little celebrity crush thing, too.” She pointed to a couple areas on the wall where the rectangular outline of a recently-hung photo of Adrien had been. “Used to be Adrien’s pictures all over the room, and they’ll be right back up once everyone leaves.”

“Yeah, so?”

“That was hilarious.”

“Agreed.”

“What if sometime…” she drew out.

“Yeah?”

“Adrien asks Marinette…” 

“Oh my heck Tikki stop hanging out with Alya just get to the point.”

“In the middle of mating…”

Plagg paused mid-tirade against Tikki’s new habit of speaking like Alya texts. He ships it.  “Go on…”

“Pervert. To put on a Ladybug mask…”

“Oh no...” 

“But he doesn’t even notice  _ then _ .” Tikki erupted in tiny kwami giggles, almost knocking over her pile of haberdashery debris-cum-gambling-tokens.

“Tikki. Be nice.” Plagg shook his head. This was almost uncharacteristically ungracious of Tikki. “Not even Adrien would be so--”

“I AM THE HIPSTEUR! THIS NEIGHBORHOOD HAS BEEN NOT THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF GENTRIFIED!”

Tikki and Plagg floated up through the skylight, to see a man in impossibly skinny jeans, an improbably large handlebar mustache, an incredibly rustic-looking snapback, and seventy or eighty scarves demolishing a McDonalds with a powerful blast of enchanted Pabst Blue Ribbon, and leaving in its wake an artisanal hand-squeezed vegan juice bar. 

And the heroes of Paris were sleeping it off, half naked, in a room full of passed-out classmates.


	10. In Which It Is Not What It Looks Like, And Escapes Are Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien manage to extricate themselves from a sensitive situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, there's no plot, just the world's longest scene segue.

_“I AM THE_ HIPSTEUR _! THIS NEIGHBORHOOD HAS BEEN NOT THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF GENTRIFIED!”_

_Tikki and Plagg floated up through the skylight, to see a man in impossibly skinny jeans, an improbably large handlebar mustache, an incredibly rustic-looking snapback, and seventy or eighty scarves demolishing a McDonalds with a powerful blast of enchanted Pabst Blue Ribbon, and leaving in its wake an artisanal hand-squeezed vegan juice bar._

_And the heroes of Paris were sleeping it off, half naked, in a room full of passed-out classmates._

 

* * *

 

 

With a shriek of indie music and the sound of exasperated eye rolls, Paris was becoming more and more ironic.

“OH YEAH THIS BAKERY IS SOOOOO AUTHENTIC.”

Marinette’s eyes shot open and she felt her body tense under her blanket. It sounded like an enormously loud, affected person was outside the bakery and… describing its authenticity? And being really snotty about it? But in a way that just sounded like an obnoxious stereotype of millennials? Something like that.

Her head was pounding and her mouth was dry. But the screams of Parisians were more vital. Paris needed Ladybug.

Marinette tried to curl her legs under herself to jump up to her balcony, but a firm, warm pressure held her in place.

_Wait a minute_ … Marinette began to assess herself. She was definitely too warm for the autumn, and she definitely didn't feel rested. She tried to run through the events of last night. Why did her head hurt? Why did she feel queasy? Wait, what was that sound? Snoring?

It takes surprisingly little time for the mind to dip into dreams, and even less for those dreams to wipe away any sense of stable reality. More than most people, Marinette got completely disoriented after taking the tiniest chatnap; if it wasn’t for that fact, she’d never be late to the school literally next door. Well, the disorientation as well as her personal service day rate. A young woman has to stay in practice, after all.

Marinette tried to shake her head and clear away the lingering remnants of her slumber. She felt her pigtails bop something behind her, and heard a groggy mumble of protest.

The sound froze her. The tiniest sliver of time passed, as she frantically tried to sort out her situation. Her whole body tensed and she felt her eyes go wide as her pupils shrank to almost nothing. Someone was holding her--spooning her!? Someone was snoring. _People_ were snoring.

Oh _merde_. The party. Alya had Shanghaied her loft for party purposes and her whole room was full of teenagers. And if her own throbbing head was any indication, they were as hungover as she was. Or would be, once they woke up.

And Paris needed Ladybug.

She could almost identify them by their snores. Ivan’s resonant rumble, muffled slightly by being buried face-first in Mylene’s cleavage. Rose’s quiet whistle, and Juleka’s almost silent, evenly-spaced breathing. Nino snoring to some somnolent beat inside his own head, a counterpoint to Alya’s chaotic snore-mumble-snore-”Ladybug”-snore, and Alix’s intermittent, staccato snorts.

There was another sound though, coming from directly behind her, which her pigtails had so brusquely interrupted. It was resuming, something between a murmur and a hum, aimed at the back of her neck.

Adrien.

Adrien Agreste.

Adrien Agreste was in her bed.

Adrien Agreste was in her bed, _spooning her_.

Marinette took a moment to restart her heartbeat, and another to slow it to reasonable speeds. Outside, Parisian screams were turning, one by one, into ironic sighs and muffled claims that they'd seen better.

Eight civilian teens were variously sprawled around Marinette’s room, and she needed to be Ladybug.

And the love of her young life had wrapped his arms around her and stayed there all night, holding her and cuddling her after a night of--

_Oh_ _foutre_. A night which had shown Marinette that Wine-Marinette was probably too aware of her own desires.

Like a puzzle, the more pieces you link, the easier it is to sort out the remainder. Memories were cascading into Marinette. Alya’s game of truth or dare. A surprisingly candid round of celebrity crushes. Lying (mostly lying, at least) to everyone because her real celebrity crush was right there. Some clothing coming off. A body shot. Two body shots. Scrambling awkwardly up to her bed. No kissing, but Adrien had… right as Marinete had…

_Oh. Oh no._

She mentally slapped herself into attention. _Okay Marinette_ , she thought to herself. _You can die of embarrassment tomorrow, but right now, Ladybug needs some privacy_. The light from her transformation--not to mention her theme music--would wake even the heaviest teen sleeper.

_So first thing’s first: get out from under Adrien’s arm._

…

_Okay, actual first thing is enjoy the feeling of Adrien’s arm a tiny bit more. Then secondly develop the emotional fortitude to draw yourself away from Adrien’s perfect, kind, loving embrace. Then third, cower in fear that Adrien will hate you forever because you got him drunk so he would get in bed with you. Fourth find Tikki, fifth somehow sneak past all of the teens on the floor, sixth transform, seventh save Paris. Eighth, survive the coffee date you drunkenly asked Adrien on. Wait--which he_ dared _you on._

_You know, if Paris gets destroyed, then I don't have to embarrass myself_ , thought Marinette.

Under the comforter, snuggled up to the most beautiful and kindest boy she had ever known, Marinette sighed. Now awake, and worried, her perfect moment of warm, floating bliss asleep in Adrien’s arms was gone. Once he realized how weird and awkward she was, he would of course never speak to her again, and her perfect Xanadu of romantic comfort would never return. She would, of course, die a spinster Ladybug, stoically defending Paris until--

_Focus,_ she told herself _. Your head might be pounding, but now is not the time for an animated mental diversion about your insecurities. Save Paris and then try to salvage the tiniest bit of face._

Marinette forced her face into some semblance of a determined grimace, hoping that some of that emotion would filter down to her actual feelings. Molecule by molecule, she tore herself away from Adrien’s skin. _Mon dieu_ , he wasn't wearing a shirt. _Mon dieu_ , neither was she!

... _Mon mother-foutu dieu_ , she remembered what had happened to her _pants_.

An internal part of her was freaking out, while a more practical external part was making progress. As gently as possible, she separated herself from Adrien’s (naked, perfect) skin, wriggling and scooching millimeter by millimeter down his body, under his arm, and to freedom. As she writhed away from him--still the last thing she wanted to do--she could hear his gentle, humming snore purring out of his mouth. He even _sounded_ beautiful, and it was torture to touch him, to hear him, to smell him on her sheets, and not be able to see him. The literally single flaw of spooning.

Marinette hadn’t remembered her sheets being made of such rough, sticky material. _Yeah and I know how they got sticky SHUT UP SELF THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT_. She had been a late, heavy sleeper since time immemorial, but she had managed to escape the siren song of her bed, usually. Today, though, every movement down Adrien’s body dragged her through tar and glue, as she somehow hooked all 600+ threads per square inch, every time she moved.

_What sorcery is this_ , she thought, inadvertently dragging her cover sheet down with her, to join the comforter and fitted sheet. _How is it so hard to get out of bed?_

Marinette had never shared a bed with anyone she was very, very seriously trying to let sleep. And now, her trustworthy and noble bed was turning on her, after years of loyalty. How dare it.

Centimeter by centimeter, she scooted herself, feeling like an inchworm (or in France, a 2.54cm-worm) as she stretched her legs and hips down to the foot of the bed, then peeled herself away from Adrien’s skin and warmth and compressed her torso, tiny slivers of progress with each repetition. Hopefully he would stay asleep while she got away. Hopefully he would still like her after their drunken...encounter. Hopefully Paris wouldn’t get destroyed. Hopefully they would grow up and get married to him and have three kids and a hamster and--hold on.

While she was shimmying her way down Adrien’s body, Marinette hadn’t lifted up his arm; surely he would notice if he was being repositioned like that, she had thought. In her haste--deliberate and slow as it was--she had neglected to note the position of his arm as she progressed. It had started the morning wrapped around her midsection, but her writhing had pulled it down and straightened it out as she had slid down towards the foot of the bed.

Now, four fingers and a thumb with a perfect French manicure (or as they call it in France, a manicure) were sleepily cupped around the right cup of her ladybug-pattern bra. And filling said cup was Marinette herself.

She had gotten to the Reign of Terror and Adrien wasn’t even awake to enjoy it.

Marinette was tired, hung over, still slightly drunk, and worried about the rampant Akuma attack. Now, despite herself and the extremely undesirable circumstance, she was breathing a little hard for an entirely inappropriate reason. Adrien had his hand on her _petite teton (petiton?),_ a tableau which had played through her mind in this very bed a number of times in private moments. But this moment was not nearly private enough for her libido to take over. Eight sleeping teenagers (who had to remain sleeping) and a city under attack had to come first. But Adrien’s involuntary, unconscious squeeze-o’-the-tit made her seriously reconsider her priorities.

_No, Marinette, think!_ she told herself _. How do we get out of this? Think about that! Don’t think about Adrien’s perfect fingers slipping under the fabric of your--HEY stop it._

Escape was necessary, even if undesirable. _How do I extract myself from this? asked Marinette. He’s not squeezing me particularly hard, but I can’t let him wake up and find out I’m Ladybug._

_Let’s see…_

_I can’t scoot any further..._

_I can’t chew off my petiton like I’m a wolf in a trap…_

_But I_ can _slip out of this bra! That should do it._

Ever so slowly, Marinette stretched her arm behind herself, trying to move as little as possible to keep Adrien sleeping. She worked her hand up her back, when a startling awareness of human anatomy returned to her.

She had scooted down Adrien’s body, which had moved his hand up to her breast.

That meant that her shoulders were right about where his hips were.

That meant her bra clasp was right about where…

Her fingers paused, frozen in time as she felt a decidedly masculine presence against the clasp of her lingerie. This same package she’d snuck a glance at during her body shot was now being traced, inadvertently, by the tips of her fingers. She felt her eyes reacting first, going wide and stunned, and her breath stopped. Would slipping her fingers past it, to her clasp, wake Adrien up? Or would pulling them away be more sensitive? Would he wake up if she squeezed it, just a little?

For the moment, she couldn’t tell which idea was worse.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, also Ladybug, was scooted halfway down her bed, pressed up against her long-time crush’s junk, with his hand unconsciously groping her, and hers unintentionally groping him.

In any other circumstance, she might have gotten herself into this position intentionally. For now however, Ladybug’s luck couldn’t balance out Marinette’s clumsiness. And how could clumsiness even accomplish this?

A tiny voice caught her attention.

“Marinette!”

“Tikki! Help me! It’s not what it looks like!” Marinette whispered with a quiet fervency.

…

“It’s not that I’m not proud of you, Marinette, but there’s an akuma seriously wrecking things out there, and Paris needs Ladybug!”

“I swear, I’m trying to get out! I tried to scoot out without waking him up but it didn’t work! And now I’m stuck and it’s the Reign of Terror, Tikki, and I’m not enjoying it as much as I thought I would!”

“Okay that barely made sense!”

Marinette was still pinned, left arm behind her back, not daring to move it for fear of brushing Adrien’s _porte-boner_. Adrien’s right hand was still solidly perched on her _petiteton_ , and any way she could think to free herself would end up with Adrien awake, or Marinette mortally embarrassed.

An idea came to her. She hoped that everyone in the room was sleeping it off as deeply as she wanted to be doing, because this plan would be mortifying at best if anyone woke up.

“You have to do that unlocking thing! Like when you opened up the locker to get Adrien’s phone! It’s the only way!”

Tikki, bless her heart, was willing to go along with it. She nodded, her innate connection with Ladybug telling her everything she needed to know. Or, she was at least willing to give Marinette the benefit of the doubt.

With a red blur, Tikki disappeared from Marinette’s vision, behind her shoulder. With a faint tinkling of kwami sorcery, Marinette felt the snugness around her ribs loosen, and she very slowly, very precisely started to wriggle herself out of her bra, and out of Adrien’s (romantic, sensual) (unconscious) grasp.

Like a caterpillar, she 2.54cm’d her way down Adrien’s body, trying to shed her polka-dotted bra in the process. It was the only way. Anything else would definitely wake up Adrien, but if she slid herself out of the lingerie just right, she could leave Adrien comfortably gripping the cup of an adorable and very well-made article of intimate apparel, and Ladybug could save the day. If she timed it right, and if Chat had softened the Akuma up some, she might even be able to sneak back in before anyone woke up.

Just a little bit farther…

 

* * *

 

Adrien was having a great dream.

It was a hazy recollection of shapes and colors, and some sort of urgent event that he needed to get to, but without the pressure of his usual modeling stress dreams. It didn’t even have the adrenaline-pumping freedom of his Chat dreams, either. It was nice, and he was somehow comfortable the whole way, even though there was a long journey of some sort. Nice, fuzzy, dream-plot.

It didn’t make sense, because that’s not what dreams are for, but he was very much enjoying the soft, warm, relaxing cocoon that surrounded him for the whole length of his sleep. The only thing that woke him felt like the gentle rocking of his perfect soft world.

He thought he heard a tiny gasp as his eyes fluttered open, and the world came back.

He was still warm and cozy, and everything was pink--that was odd. It was the first time he could ever remember not waking up in his own--

Oh. The party.

Oh. The _party games_.

Oh, _mon dieu_. His _head_.

And lastly: Oh… what was that?

He was on his side, peering into the eyes of a charming white tiger, who appeared to actually be a pillow, which was a relief. But he felt something lower, warm, against his body. As he looked down, the fifth and final Oh returned to him.

Oh, Marinette. Oh-- _Marinette_!?

She was looking up at him from a vantage point of about his hips, last night’s pigtails in disarray around her head, bangs in her eyes.

Last night came back to him in a rush. Drinking. Truth or Dare. Alya’s masterful transformation of a simple pastry party into a sexually charged teen fondlefest. Stripping. Bodyshots. Marinette. Marinette’s _bed_. Marinette’s _dares_. _His_ dares.

And now she was shouldered up to a very personal bulge, and it looked like her--

Adrien couldn’t help but run his eyes over Marinette, trying to get his proprioception in order after just waking up. His legs were under the covers, his chest was uncovered, his left arm was a little bit asleep, and his right arm….

...Ended in a hand, which was snagging Marinette’s ladybug bra cup.

A gentle swell of flesh was rounding out from below the cup, and below his fingers. Her bra had ridden up on her breast, pulled up by his unconscious grip on the fabric. When had that happened?

Adrien liked to think that he was a respectful and gentle young man. But he had to stop thinking that, at least for a little, once his eyes landed on that deliriously rounded underboob.

Marinette and Adrien both whispered, frantic, at the same time, as Adrien whipped his hand away from Marinette’s breast.

“This isn’t what it looks like!”

Adrien was completely aghast that he had been feeling up his classmate. More churlish still, he felt a very impolite firmness developing in his unmentionables. Which were pressed up against Marinette’s shoulderblades. But the worst was Adrien’s first instinct, to whip his offending away from Marinette’s feminine accoutrements.

He had the noblest of intentions, he told himself, in the infinitely long nanosecond of this particular mistake. _Just my luck_.

Perhaps it had been rendered a little less form-fitting by her shimmying out of it; perhaps she had already done most of the work in scooting her teton out of the polka-dot embrace of her underwear. Whatever factor was to blame, one of his fingers had snagged the fabric of Marinette’s bra cup. And in whipping his hand away, he succeeded in wrenching the bra off of Marinette’s right-side ladybit.

Trying to salvage at least a tiny bit of honor for himself (not to mention Marinette), he ripped his eyes away from the sight of the partially denuded girl and fixed them on the wall, pointedly ignoring how the shade of pink interior design he was staring at matched a certain tempting peak of a certain tempting breast belonging to a certain tempting-- _No! Polite! Good friend!_

Immediately, Adrien and Marinette began fencing with aggressively competing whispers.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t--”

“No it’s fine I--”

“I never meant to--”

“You didn’t this just--”

“I’m so--”

“Waking you up--”

“Didn’t see anything--”

“Just had to use the bathroom--”

“Alya is going to kill me.”

The exchange was frantic, soft and incoherent, neither teen quite managing to look anywhere near the other. Their bodies were still three-quarters spooned, but their eyes weren’t touching anything on each other at all. They stumbled to a stop after a few whispered false starts.

Marinette broke the dizzying silence first.

“I had to...go… and tried to slip out of y-your a-a-a-arms without waking y-you I’m so sorry, I swear I wasn’t trying to make you get to the Reign of Terror with me and I wasn’t reaching back to grab you or anything either I was undoing my bra and--”

“I’M NOT A HIPSTER, I AM _THE_ HIPSTEUR! DO YOU EVEN ROAST YOUR OWN BEANS?”

A deafening voice, which could only belong to an akuma victim, shook the foundations of the bakery. None of the teenagers sleeping on the floor stirred, still sleeping off the effects of the previous night. Mme. Wine, you serve us well again.

“Um…”

“Uh…”

Still whispering, Marinette scooted down the bed, out from under the covers, and down the ladder, stage-whispering as she went.

“WELL IT LOOKS LIKE THERE’S AN AKUMA YOU BETTER STAY HERE WHERE IT’S SAFE I HAVE TO USE THE FACILITIES BE RIGHT BACK BYE!”

Still whispering, Adrien was already sitting up to open the skylight.

“OH GOSH I’VE NEVER SEEN AN AKUMA BEFORE I NEED TO GET A BETTER LOOK I’LL JUST GO UP HERE BE RIGHT BACK WHERE IT’S SAFE BYE!”

Then he looked down and saw a lonely, discarded ladybug bra on the bed.

 

* * *

 

Marinette picked her way through the snoring morass of teen bodies on her floor, pressing a pillow tight to her chest to keep herself at least somewhat modest. _Merci_ again, Mme Wine, for ensuring a deep sleep in the young.

Every step brought her closer to the trapdoor and further from a very nice, very blond Adonis currently only wearing boxers. And lying in her bed. She felt his eyes on her naked back, certain that two brilliant green spotlights were making her blush down to her ankles.

Well, per her promise last night, Marinette supposed he must have been pretty nice, since he was definitely getting to see her Ladybug panties.

Not trusting herself with words or vision, she silently lifted the trapdoor and kept her eyes cast down as she descended. She needed to be red in a very different way, and that meant the privacy of the bathroom.

Tikki peeked her head out from under the pillow, nestled snugly in Marinette’s cleavage.

“Good work, Marinette! I am definitely sure Chat Noir should be arriving soon, yes, definitely from a different direction! And he will need Ladybug!”

Marinette paused in front of the bathroom mirror, looking in horror at the incredible beet-redness of her face and chest, and physically feeling some horrible chimera of a sensation that had to be half-drunk, half-hung over.

“I cannot believe I had to wiggle out of Adrien’s arms, and that he then accidentally whipped my bra off,” she started. “Tikki, you need to find a new Ladybug, because as soon as I defeat this akuma I am going to die of shame.”

“Don't joke about that! I'm sure Adrien was a perfect gentleman!”

“Of course he was, Tikki! The point is I am still going to melt and die forever.”

“Marinette!”

“I know, I know! Later. Tikki, transformer-moi!”

Light flashed, theme music played, and in seconds, Ladybug was squeezing out of the tiny window of her bathroom and hoping she was lucky enough for noone to notice.

 

* * *

 

Adrien couldn't stop himself, he told himself. He merely reacted to seeing motion in the corner of his eye, he told himself. That is why, and for no other reason, he was watching Marinette tiptoe through the lush snoring teen undergrowth of her floor, wearing only ladybug panties and a pillow. Pure instinct. He was just lying in her bed, he told himself, and his chatlike reflexes made him look.

Lying in Marinette’s bed, to himself.

He snapped his eyes away, pretending that he had self control. _She was definitely not lying about those panties. It must be my birthday_. Shaking his head, he realized he had made a terrible mistake by shaking his head. The world spun and his stomach clenched--a night of too much wine and pastries was taking its toll. Is this what hangovers are? he thought. This isn't so bad.

Two tiny paw taps got his attention.

“Ahem. If you're quite done ogling your gracious host? Perhaps we could get going? I already ate the last of the Camembert, don’t worry.”

“It was reflex, Plagg! I saw movement and--”

“Adrien, this kwami-teenager relationship can’t be based on lies,” Plagg lied. “Come on. Ladybug is probably already there and has been for a long time and you don't need to think about it and she needs us.”

Adrien was definitely fine, and not still drunk or hungover, and he rose to vault onto Marinette’s balcony. However, he ran into a problem once he elevated himself the tiniest bit. Instantly, gravity was coming from a different direction--several at once maybe--and his head had bees in it, and his stomach was maybe turning into a cataclysm.

_Okay good to know. Never move ever after drinking_. This… isn’t so bad, he lied to himself.

Adrien was focused enough on keeping the contents of his stomach from becoming the contents of Marinette’s bed that he didn't even stop to consider how gung-ho his little floating companion was. A kwami suddenly more interested in action than sleeping was the least of his worries.

“This is great and all, but maybe pick up the pace? There's an akuma, you know.”

The poor boy reached deep into his secret reserve of anime willpower and pulled out a final, desperate sliver of grit. It was enough to lurch him onto the balcony, on his stomach, crawling forward to pull his legs through.

“Plagg, can I transform while lying down? No one should be able to see me like that.”

“...You can't sit up, can you.” It was not a question.

“Not even a little.”

“Fine! But you have to--”

“Transformer moi,” moaned Adrien.

The flash was barely detectable in the bright light of a new day, and Adrien was pretty sure the theme music was just in his own head. With uncharacteristic caution and delicacy, Chat Noir slunk off of Marinette’s balcony and wobbled on his baton over to the sounds of akuma problems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to include the Akuma fight as well, but there's a part of it I need to rewrite. Get excited.


	11. In Which Caffeine Is Very Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladybug and Chat Noir confront the Hipsteur, and determine that being hungover and still a little drunk is the worst way to fight an Akuma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much sin here, but just you wait. Plenty of antics, though.

_“I cannot believe I had to wiggle out of Adrien’s arms, and that he then accidentally whipped my bra off,” she started. “Tikki, you need to find a new Ladybug, because as soon as I defeat this akuma I am going to die of shame.”_

_“Don't joke about that! I'm sure Adrien was a perfect gentleman!”_

_“Of course he was, Tikki! The point is I am still going to melt and die forever.”_

_“Marinette!”_

_“I know, I know! Later. Tikki, transformer-moi!”_

_Light flashed, theme music played, and in seconds, Ladybug was squeezing out of the tiny window of her bathroom and hoping she was lucky enough for noone to notice._

_..._

 

_“Plagg, can I transform while lying down? No one should be able to see me like that.”_

_“...You can't sit up, can you.” It was not a question._

_“Not even a little.”_

_“Fine! But you have to--”_

_“Transformer moi,” moaned Adrien._

_The flash was barely detectable in the bright light of a new day, and Adrien was pretty sure the theme music was just in his own head. With uncharacteristic caution and delicacy, Chat Noir slunk off of Marinette’s balcony and wobbled on his baton over to the sounds of akuma problems._

 

* * *

 

 

Whenever the Hipsteur touched someone, they immediately sprouted aviator shades and began loudly discussing how much better Paris had been before all these people moved there. Fixies and carefully styled facial hair followed in his wake. Ironically prejudiced comments were made.

It wasn’t really easy to tell who had been akumatized, it turned out. But at least the screams and scoffs gave them somewhere to start, even if the task of determining basic contempt for tourists from akuma-influence wasn’t easy. After a substantial number of false starts, Ladybug was swinging as fast as she could, in what was probably the right direction. Her pounding headache and the blinding light of the sun were conspiring against her, but she was certain there was at least some progress as she--whoops.

Ladybug could feel her yo-yo’s wire slipping from its secure hold around the chimney even as she swung into the avenue. _Too soon!_ Her line went slack, mid-swing, and she found herself deposited on the cobblestones with a surprising amount of forward velocity. Her yo-yo coiled back into her hand as she skidded on her _culette_ , magical suit fabric preventing the cobblestones from knocking her tailbone into her ribcage. She found herself blinking up at the sky, lightly scrambled, somehow tied up with her own yoyo. A familiar pair of green eyes blinked at her. Were they a little more bloodshot than usual?

“When I tore ass to get over here, I didn't think I needed to take it so literally.” Chat Noir was standing over her, reaching a black-gloved arm down to help her up.

“Shut up, Chat. Sorry. Thanks.” She took the proffered hand and hoisted herself up, misjudging again, slightly. Her Ladybug-enhanced strength pulled her too forward and she crashed into Chat Noir, knocking him back. She steadied herself with a hand on his chest--he hadn't fallen. He had already extended his baton and had been leaning on it for support. Like a cane, or a crutch.

“It is nothing, my lady. You can stumble into me whenever--”

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt? Why are you leaning on your baton?!” Ladybug pushed back off of his chest, looking him up and down for injuries. The rapid motion of her eyes made her legs wobble and her brain scream for freedom, but she powered through; she had to be heroic, _especially_ in front of Chat.

Chat Noir looked sheepishly at his baton. He retracted it and reattached it to his back.

“Sorry, sorry, it's fine. I'm fine. I'm just a little… uh…  tired?”

Ladybug sighed and shook her head. “You and me both, _chaton_. What kind of villain sends an akuma on a Saturday morning?”

“Agreed. Even Papillon should have some limits to his evil.”

The sun peeked out from behind a building, and Ladybug winced and doubled over as a strange new torture erupted behind her eyes. She balanced herself with hands on her knees, keeping her eyes shut tight. Chat Noir put a gentle hand on her shoulder, asking so much without words.

“I'm okay, too, Chat. It's just too _foutu_ bright now.”

“ _Oui_.”

“And aren't butterflies supposed to migrate?!”

“Right?!”

“Ugh.”

Ladybug scanned the boulevard. Dozens of scarf-wearing people in tight jeans were checking the status of their undercuts in the reflection of shop windows. Several were leaning against fixed-gear bicycles. Everyone was very intentionally not paying attention to the two superheroes. So they had that going for them, at least.

Chat grunted. When Ladybug looked over, he was rubbing his temples, directly behind his mask, green eyes closed.

A lot of things were wrong about this scene. Chat stumbling, her own hangover, a surprising number of waxed mustaches for a Saturday morning. And weren’t you supposed to be either drunk _or_ hungover? Not both? What gives?  And something was off about the street...

“Hey didn't that used to be a condo?” she asked him, the question coming out before she could even form the idea fully.

Ladybug pointed to the corner--no sense in risking a nod of the head to indicate it. She was certain that there was a mixed-use block there yesterday--flashy luxury apartments above a row of storefronts, all with the sleek modern lines and tall glass of an Apple Store, completely absent any consideration for the surrounding architecture. Ladybug might be a hero, but Marinette was a fashionista, and design was design. Something was different.

The bland modernism had been replaced with a semi-structure that looked like a combination food truck hub and DIY bike repair shop. No trace remained of the gentrified construction. Nary a “luxury flat in the heart of Paris” was to be seen. The ramshackle building had been decorated with reclaimed bike parts and junkyard metal, and the food trucks were advertising Korean-Tex-Mex fusion.

“Well, the Hipsteur has been here, at least.”

They stood silent for a while, considering their options, nursing their various discomforts.

“Ladybug, what’s the most modern part of Paris right now? The part that’s most obnoxiously not-hipstery?”

“Huh, I'm not sure. The Louvre pyramid maybe? The McDonalds in the Champs-Élysées? The Kidz+ skyscraper?”

“I bet the Hipsteur is after something like that.” Even thinking was getting hard, for Chat. His head would barely stop pounding to let an idea get in edgewise. “Something with a lot of glass and exposed steel?”

“Let's try Kidz+,” said Ladybug.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You can enjoy McDonalds ironically and the Louvre has art, I guess? And akuma villains love to go to the TV station.”

“Huh…” Chat counted on his fingers, and Ladybug could see him tracing back over the past months of attacks. No mental math for any heroes today. “You are as right as you are brilliant, my lady.”

“Then let's get this over with so we can go back to sleep. Ladybug might be five thousand years old, but I'm still a teenager about mornings.”

“But of course. Even though we know no beauty sleep could improve upon your perfection.” Chat nodded in agreement, accidentally losing his balance in the process. He whipped his baton down, trying to play it off as intentional.

Instead of catching him and arresting his fall, it extended wildly and rocketed Chat in the wrong direction.

Ladybug failed to stifle a laugh, though her headache made her regret it. She jogged over to where Chat had landed in a bush.

“Sure you're okay to baton, Chaton?”

Chat grumbled and slid out of the tree on to his face, disproving a certain myth about cats in the process. Making a show of brushing himself off, he huffed and straightened his bell.

“I am absolutely fine to baton, Officer Ladybug. But of course, I’ll always let you drive me--drive me _wild_ , that is.” His voice came out a little hoarse and forced, even to his own ears, and Ladybug raised an eyebrow. “Not my best work. They can’t all be gems.”

“Almost none of them are gems.”

“Whatever. Let's go. It’s bright.”

Ladybug grunted in acknowledgment.

 

* * *

 

Ladybug noticed how unsteady Chat was on the baton almost as quickly as she noticed how off her yo-yo game was. It seemed like every block she would either miss a throw entirely, or it would slip off of an outcropping, or she would let go too soon, or something similar. After scant blocks in pursuit with Chat Noir, she completely botched a takeoff swing and wasn’t able to unhook her yoyo from an outcropping. She found herself spinning wildly around the ledge, rotating in smaller and smaller complete circles, until she finally came to stop draped over half of a balcony and most of a potted ficus. This did not bode well for the fight with the akuma.

Chat was no better. He kept accidentally batonning himself directly through trees, or miscalculating how far vaulting would take him, or knocking into power lines. It took them easily twice as long as it should have to get to the skyscraper. At one point, he planted his baton right between the street and a manhole cover, prying it loose at the zenith of his vault. It slid away, dropping his baton into the tunnels below, and abbreviated Chat’s parabola, sending him sprawling helplessly through the front door of a pet shop.

Ladybug was almost disappointed that Alya was still passed out in her room. When she went to retrieve Chat Noir, he was sprawled upside-down on a massive, multi-tier scratching post. Standing on his chest was a plush black cat, slowly blinking its own bright green eyes into the superhero’s. It was joined by at least a dozen other felines, crawling all over the cat palace and a hapless superhero.

And Alya was nowhere to be found to immortalize it.

_I wonder if this thing has a camera_ , thought Ladybug, pressing a fist to her mouth to prevent an explosion of laughter. She flipped open her yoyo. _Oh sweet_.

Chat Noir blinked in bewilderment at the flash of Ladybug’s extremely multi-purpose yoyo.

“What? Come on, my lady, I’m in need of assistance here!”

“Sorry, Chat!” Ladybug replied. She had been entirely unable to prevent herself from laughing, especially after seeing the wounded, soulful look in her partner’s eyes. “I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to snap a picture of Chat Noir, neck-deep in pussy at last.”

“See, my lady? I’m quite the catch. Now help me get out of here?”

Extracting Chat from the cat palace was one thing, and extracting the cats from him was another. Every time Ladybug managed to pry one off of his suit, another would take its place, rubbing its head against his legs and clawing its way up his suit, preferably to deliver a headbutt. Chat had taken to splitting his baton in two, and using both poles to level cats away from him, their claws doing an admirable job of clinging to the supernatural fabric of his costume.

“I guess I really am a--” he started to say, before Ladybug interrupted him.

“A cat person!?”

She clapped a hand over her mouth. The pun had come to her unbidden, slipping from between her lips before she could stop it. And Chat had noticed. How could he have missed it?

Chat’s eyes got wide and shiny, and his breath caught in his throat. His mouth extended into a broad, helpless smile worthy of a gleeful Marinette, and he clapped his hands under his chin, emitting a high-pitched squeal.

Ladybug was aghast. “I-I didn’t mean--I’m not--it wasn’t--”

But it was too late.

“Ladybug! That was amazing! It’s everything I ever wanted! I’m overwhelmed!” He was gushing. “I’ve never felt like this before! I feel so close to you!” He grabbed Ladybug’s hand and pressed it to his chest. “Feel my heartbeat!”

Ladybug retrieved her hand and made a show of wiping it off, which Chat ignored, too intent on gazing lovingly at her. She rolled her eyes, which was likely the worst possible use of her eyes at that moment.

“Come on Chat. I’ve got a headache and and there’s an akuma. We can just… ignore this little indiscretion.”

“Never. It is seared into my heart. Ladybug, my Ladybug, beat me to a pun! About me! I will never forget--” Ladybug snagged him with her yoyo and whipped him back out the door, leaving a number of cats climbing on the empty space where Chat used to be. They, unlike the superhero, all managed to land on their feet.

The search continued.

 

* * *

 

_It's a good thing this akuma is just making people stereotypes and not actually hurting anyone,_ thought Ladybug. _Except maybe corporate developers… but I'm literally bright red, and I already know I hate one Bourgeois, so I can't care too much ._

She swung in a wobbly arc past a newly-appeared mustache wax parlor. _Well one way or another, this needs to get ended quickly. I can't have any of my guests realize that Marinette has been_ a la bidet _for way too long._ Up ahead, the Kidz+ building loomed.

Chat Noir planted himself squarely into an open garbage can, his baton flipping up in the air and descending onto his nose. He yowled, much like his namesake, and rubbed at his face.

Ladybug’s entrance wasn't much better. She had tried to pump herself up by doing a superhero landing, but had managed to wrap her yo-yo around a vertical light post, instead of an overhanging street light. She had planned to gracefully arc into the air and come to a landing with one knee down and on hand on the ground, classic superhero, but instead she only had horizontal velocity, not vertical. So she wound up careening wildly across the antique cobblestones and into various stately statues.

_I’m almost making better time skidding on my rump than swinging from my yoyo. At least it's too early for most Parisians._

But it wasn't too early for her partner.

“Looking great, Bugginette.”

Ladybug grumbled and dusted herself off, miraculous costume being highly resistant to dirt and stains, conveniently enough.

“So don't take this the wrong way,” Chat began, “but are you… drunk right now?”

“What!? No! I would never be drunk on the job! The job which is always! Because we are defenders of Paris!”

…

“I'm just a little… Ladybuzzed. From last night.”

Chat noir exhaled and slumped forward, catching himself on his extended baton.

“Phew. I'm glad it's not just me.”

“Wait--you were drinking last ni--”

“I… AM THE HIPSTEUR.”

And suddenly, conversation wasn't cool anymore.

 

* * *

 

It was a real brawl. In prime shape, Ladybug and Chat Noir would probably have handled this akuma villain with ease. In their less-than-stellar states, however, it was a real slugfest while they tried to find out which ironic or culturally appropriative trinket housed the akuma.

Thousands of pairs of cheap aviator shades pelted them. Snapbacks snapped onto their limbs, keeping them entangled.

“LADYBUG’S OLD DESIGN WITH THE RED TIPS WAS BETTER!”

“What? I look great!”

“What the hell is he talking about, Ladybug?”

“I have no idea! Try to--”

Vintage shirts flew into their faces to keep them blinded.

“I THINK FELIX HAD A LOT OF POTENTIAL FOR CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!”

“Who the _foutre_ is Felix? The American cartoon?”

“Stay focused, Chat!”

And all the while they had to dodge those _foutu_ beams of Pabst Blue Ribbon that turned you into a hipster stereotype. Or, if you were a building, a locally-sourced gastropub. And at a certain point, brawling always becomes insufficient.

“Okay, I'm out of ideas. Lucky charm!”

Hearts and ladybugs swirled through the air and coalesced into a red and black spotted… French press? Or as they say in France, “press.”

“A French press? What am I going to do with this?”

“You know in France we just call that a press.” Chat’s ability to banter while dodging was truly impressive. Even with the Hipsteur’s cryptic riddles, he managed to slide in a few one-liners. _No wonder he was impressed with my pun...ugh. I am ashamed. Focus._

Ladybug looked around, trying to find anything that she could do with the coffee implement.

Coffee press… spots. Cafe sign… spots. Outdoor patio seating for two… spots. Coffee cups… spots. Of course!

“Chat Noir! Distract him!”

“No problem, my lady!” Chat took over as he had dozens of times before--distracting the villain while Ladybug worked her magic.

This time, however, he was feeling really _,_ REALLY _merdique_. He wasn't up to the scrambling around.

“Hey Hipsteur! I hear that they just got in a new shipment of Italian vintage in the thrift store down the block!”

A curly mustache, oiled beard, and coiffed undercut turned to face Chat Noir.

“YOU KNOW, I KNOW YOU’RE PLAYING ME BUT I’M GONNA CHECK IT OUT ANYWAY.”

Chat sat down in a spare chair at a street cafe, extending his baton to the ground and resting his chin on it. He could faintly see a purple butterfly outline peeking around the Hipsteur’s head, and he could almost hear Papillon yelling through the akuma connection.

_Whatever. Time has been bought._ He felt his eyes fluttering closed.

“A little pick-me-up, _mon chaton_?”

“Ladybug?”

While he had been distracting the Hipsteur, she had been busy. She had managed to find coffee beans in the cafe, and had filled her distinctive regional press with a rich arabica blend, and perfectly-hot water. It had just finished steeping, or whatever the equivalent to “steeping” is for coffee. Chat blinked, and tried to think of the right word. _Brewing_. _There we go_.

She poured some of the even-more-miraculous-than-usual elixir into each coffee cup on the table, and took a seat.

“You are truly miraculous,” said Chat as he wrapped his hands around the mug. He dipped his face low over the cup, closing his eyes, letting the steam run over his face and collect in his cat ears. He inhaled deeply, letting the airborne coffee essence permeate his lungs before taking his first sip.

It was heavenly.

With a relieved moan, Chat finally opened his eyes again. Ladybug was deep in her own coffee reverie, cupping her hands into a tunnel over the rim of the coffee cup to force the steam and aromas more directly into her face. Her eyes were closed, and her bangs were helping channel the scents of perfectly-brewed coffee directly into her face.

Chat glanced over his shoulder to where the akuma villain had gone, and immediately regretted it when a shaft of beautiful sunlight from a pristine Paris morning struck him in the retina. Maybe Ladybug was just protecting herself from the increasingly harsh light of dawn, not savoring the sublime essence of the bean. Maybe both. Ladybug was a multitasker, after all.

Or maybe not. A low hum resolved itself in Chat’s ears and he realized it was coming from under two slender, spotted gloves. Ladybug was practically buzzing with contentment at her coffee. Chat himself realized he had melted a little bit into his seat.

They stayed like that for a while, nursing their coffee in silence punctuated by the occasional blissful _mmmm_.

“I AM THE HIPSTEUR AND I HAVE RETURNED WITH SOME GREAT--”

Chat interrupted him.

“Hey did you know about that little record store down the block? You probably haven't heard of it. Great selection.”

The Hipsteur dashed off, unable to help himself.

“Chat I have never been more attracted to you than in this moment.”

Ladybug was peeking one eye out from over her fingers. Her nose was still resting on her mug.

Her eye got wider.

“I-I don't mean to say--that is I didn't--”

Chat chuckled.

“You look pretty good yourself.” He winked, an exaggerated, overt compression of an entire side of his face.

“Chat, come on! I didn't mean to be leading you on or anything. That's what I meant. I meant I'm glad you bought us more time. Seriously!”

Chat Noir cackled, thrilled to see Ladybug so flustered. A rare enough occurrence.

“Bug, Bug, Bug, I know, I know! We both need a break. Honestly the only thing I want right now is more coffee and maybe some ibuprofen.”

“Couldn't find any.”  

“Ah well. This coffee should do the job.”

“Yeah…”

Another minute passed, each hero getting a refill.

“Seriously though, are you feeling okay? I mean I call you attractive and you barely reacted. You’ve sounded off this whole morning.” She had managed to pull her face from the coffee-sauna to speak to him again.

“Uh,” started Chat Noir. _Maybe honesty is the best policy. I learned that last night, right?_ “It's not that I don't appreciate it, but… I've never gotten drunk before. Before last night. And I'm still maybe a little chatfaced and hung over at the same time now. Which I didn’t know could happen, and I am very angry at alcohol now. And I maybe feel like trash and can't even adequately flirt with the heroine of Paris. Don't tell the Ladyblog.” He huddled down, sheepish at his honesty. “The coffee is all I have eyes for, right now.”

Ladybug giggled, sitting up and drinking her joe like a regular person.

“Believe it or not, I never got drunk before either. What are the odds right?”

What are the odds indeed.

Now that coffee had returned him to himself, Chat Noir’s mind was a tiny bit blown. Ladybug, his perfect idol, going to a party? Getting drunk? He knew they each had real lives and were real people but for some reason he couldn't picture Ladybug as a normal girl, with a normal life. She was always so much _more_ than people he knew. More courageous, more confident, more sassy (except for maybe Alya), more… everything.

He chuckled. Maybe she _was_ more everything. More fun. More experienced. More social. More drunk. Now that he framed it like that...

“What?” She gave him a look, and he could see how bloodshot her eyes were, around the blue.

“I'm just thinking. I always kind of think of you being Ladybug everywhere all the time and you just… show up when you're needed. Take off your glasses in a phone booth, and there you are. But of course you're someone, of course you do regular teen things.”

He took another sip.

“Heck, you probably think I'm some sort of wild-child libertine in real life.”

“I… may have privately speculated about that.”

“I'm actually really--”

“Chat, no details!”

“I know! Secrets. It's just, I'm actually really different. I'm not nearly as, uh… forward, I guess. I'm not as open. I've pretty much never been to a party or even had alcohol.”

Wait, how did that sound?

“I was at a party last night though! I wasn't just drinking alone.” For some reason, he felt very strongly that Ladybug not think he was some closet case alcoholic. “It was just--”

“Do you still do the puns?” Her eyes locked onto his. Critical information.

“...Not as much,” he admitted.

“Huh. Real life Chat Noir sounds alright.”

“Really? The puns are that bad?” Chat was privately hurt, but he also privately knew he was faking it in private. And he also knew Ladybug couldn’t resist a one-liner. “I mean, you did one yourself, you know…”

“Well… “

“Actually don't answer that. It's part of my mystique now.” _Oh hey better do a flirt_. “Just one of the many ways I’ll win your lo--”

“I AM THE HIPSTEUR! I WILL--”

“Hey,” Ladybug said. “Didn't that locally owned sapiosexual Internet cafe just open up down the street? I hear they've got great vegan dolmas.”

“WHOA OKAY BRB.”

The Hipsteur trotted off in a third direction, leaving two hungover heroes to their coffee.

“ _Bien joue_ , Buggy.”

“ _Merci_ , kitty.”  

Chat refreshed Ladybug’s coffee and added two sugars to his own. The first two cups were working their magic; time to add a little sweet boost. He held up a sugar cube in his tongs and raised a questioning eyebrow to Ladybug.

“Load me up. I can use the sugar.”

Chat dropped five cubes into her cup, only stopping when she drew the cup back and started lazily stirring it.

“So you like it black and sweet huh? I knew I was your type.”

Rubbing her eyes, Ladybug gave a short laugh. “That was almost a good joke, Chat. You must be feeling better.”

“Of course! We’ve been partners so long, and all it took to get you on a coffee date with me was this akuma…”

Ladybug still didn't have the energy to banter, or the attention to keep things private.

“How embarrassing. Chat Noir steals my first date ever, like a thief in the night, right after I finally ask out this boy I like.”

Chat sputtered out his coffee mid-sip and shook his head to clear it. Ladybug gasped--she had already revealed more information to Chat this morning than she had ever planned. She groaned and let her head sink into her hands.

“I… don't suppose there's any way I can get you to ignore that I said that, is there?”

Chat finished coughing out his beverage and shook his head. Once he managed to swallow enough air to accomplish it, he sighed. Of course Ladybug would be looking to date someone. She was amazing, in or out of the mask--he was most surprised that _this_ of all coffees was her first date. But then, it was his, too.

People like Marinette and Alya and Nino could admire their celebrity freebies from afar, but he saw his every week. They were partners, they knew each other. At least to some degree. What do you do when the girl you love is the most famous superhero in Paris, and she's your partner, and she's interested in someone _else_ ? _And_ you were a little unfaithful to your crush (if that’s a thing) last night, drunk, at a party where--

Oh right. He could weirdly relate.

“This is also… kind of my first date ever, too, I guess. Even though it's not a date of course! So we have that in common?”

“Yeah… I just don't want to lead you on, with the attractive thing and the--”

“Bugaboo, it's fine, I--”

“And I never know if you're joking when you're all flirty and it's not that I don't like you, I care about you so much, but--”

“Ladybug seriously you--”

“And when you got hit by Dark Cupid and--”

“I'm telling you, you're right I--”

“But there's this other guy and--”

“I swear, it’s--”

“I AM THE HIPST--”

Both heroes turned to the akuma villain at the same time, shouting at the same time:

“THERE’S A SALE ON FIXED-GEAR BICYCLES ACROSS THE STREET!” yowled Chat.

“YOU CAN GET A FREE TATTOO TODAY AT THE PARLOR DOWNTOWN!” screamed Ladybug.

“OH SWEET BYE.”

In the silence after the akuma lumbered off, both heroes managed to stopper their glossolalia.

“So…” Ladybug began. Braced for awkwardness.

“Have you ever had a friend, or known someone, and all of a sudden you really started to look at them in a different way? Like you got to know them and didn't know why you'd missed it before?” Chat’s questions came out rapidly, tumbling over each other before he could stop them.

Ladybug sucked in a little breath and blinked a few times. That was a startlingly deep question, coming from Paris’ number one flirt. A certain boy back in her bed had really turned her attitude around on the second day she'd known him. She could definitely relate. And that was _still_ her favorite umbrella.

She nodded.

“I had… sort of an encounter with a friend. We were both drunk. And now I think it's kind of… different?” He paused, considering what he’d just said. “I don’t mean--we didn’t--ugh…” he flapped his hand in front of his face

Ladybug nodded,sipping her aggressively sweet coffee.

“We didn't do anything--drunk, you know--but it was…” Chat blushed. “Really, really hot and I'd never had a… thing like that with someone.” He shook his head.

“That’s… kind of a lot of information, Chat. You don’t have to tell me about it if--”

“We didn't even kiss! I don't know why I'm so weird about it. But it… kinda felt like…”

“Like what?” she prompted. Chat was different; something had happened while he was chatfaced that made him distinctly awkward, but in a different way than usual. And if nothing else, partners are there to support each other. “You can tell me.”

“Okay don't be mad.”

“Chat…” There was a note of warning in her tone.

“It kind of felt like cheating on you and I have a date with her and I've never been on a date before and I'm sorry I know we don't have a thing and were partners but I just respect you so much and you're so great and kind and ever since you did that thing with the butterflies in the Eiffel Tower and I've just kind of been so into you but--”

Ladybug reached over and covered his black-gloved hand with her spotted one. She leaned in, trying to catch his eyes.

“You know we have to stay hidden, Chat.”

“Yeah…”

“We can't ever really go on dates. Except this, right now, whatever this is. Which is only an akuma thing.”

“True.”

“The only reason we have this much time is because we haven't finished using the lucky charm, and because Papillon really phoned it in on this stereotype of an akuma.”

“Definitely.”

“We've never had a talk this long before.”

“Huh... that's right…”

“Don't feel weird about this girl because of me, Chat Noir. She probably likes you and was glad to see you at a party! You should definitely see her again. And besides… you know you'll see me again, any time Paris needs us.”

“Of course.”

“And you like this girl right?”

“Yes! She's great. I was worried she hated me for so long but I… _really_ guess not.” He was almost _completely_ certain she liked him now.

“So go on a date with her! Let's agree: this isn't a date right now. It's a strategy session. Your first date can be with this girl, and mine can be with my boy. Everyone wins, especially us.”

She reached over the table to cup Chat’s cheek in her hand.

“I am going to look you in the eyes and give you a very good pep talk, because my blood is full of coffee and sugar,” she started. “Here we go. We have a bond that is stronger than anything, Chat Noir. It's special and nothing can diminish that. So don't think for a second that our regular selves dating means that our connection as superheroes is anything but miraculous, or anything but love.”

They were quiet for a moment after that, remembering the times where they had come so close to losing each other, and themselves.

Chat Noir being erased from time.

Ladybug falling off of a flying car.

Dark Cupid corrupting Chat.

Animan swallowing Ladybug whole.

So many times, risking everything for each other and for Paris, and for the world. It might not be dinner and a movie, but it was something more than friendship.

“Is that really what you think, Ladybug?”

“Yes. Romance isn't the only love, Chat. That's why when I kissed you it--”

“Wait what!?!?” He had told Marinette he'd never kissed anyone! When was this?!

“It was when Dark Cupid got you! It doesn't count!”

“I don't remember that at all! And of course it counts! Oh _mon dieu_ , I told that girl I’d never kissed anyone...”

“True love had to break the spell, and it did! And it doesn't count because it was an akuma attack, and it definitely doesn't count for your regular life!”

“The Ladyblog never mentioned this kiss…”

“I guess Alya missed it! But it doesn't count, we have love, and you didn't lie to the girl. Trust Ladybug, I am very cool and smart and my head feels much better.”

“Mine too. LB, you know what this means, right?”

“What?”

“You can't get mad if I call you my love now.”

Ladybug sighed. “ _Zut alors._ See Chat? You're making me go full French.”

“It's my pleasure, lover.”

“Weird. Sounds weird. Nope.”

“Okay I guess I can--”

“Never again. Feels bad, man.”

“Mon cher? Mon ami? Mi vida? Mi corazon? Luz de mis ojos?”

“That’s not even French anymore, Chat, come on!”

“I AM THE HIPSTEUR!”

Chat and Ladybug sighed and tipped their heads up. Time to go butterfly hunting.

As the akuma did its little spiel, their eyes met. Wordlessly, they nodded, their coffee and pep talk bringing them back to fighting form. Or at least thinking form.

“Hey, want some coffee? It’s local.”

“OH SURE, LET ME JUST GET MY WALLET.”

After they had distracted the villain with an offer of coffee, it was embarrassingly easy to find its akumatized object--a credit card billed to the victim’s parents--and smash it.

“Wow, I guess Papillon has been reading too many internet stories about millennials.”

“Seriously. Bye bye, little butterfly,” chirped Ladybug. “ _Miraculous--”_

_“_ Wait! Can you, like, tune the Miraculous Ladybug go get rid of our hangovers?”

Ladybug turned to him, eyes wide and brimming with tears. She wrapped herself around him in an intense, passionate hug. No idea had ever been better.

“See Chat? This is why we're a team.”

Ladybug focused on her Lucky Charm, clearly visualizing all of the damage to Paris and her Parisiens being healed, as well as her own and Chat’s hangovers to be cured. For good measure, she threw in the hangovers of her friends from the party. Impeccable hostess.

“ _Miraculous Ladybug!_ ”

With a swooping swarm of red and black beetles, everything was back to normal in Paris, and the last remnants of Ladybug’s hangover dissolved away into brilliant pink light.

Chat noir was smiling at her.

“ _Bien_ mother _-foutu joue_!”

They smiled at each other and bounded off, swinging and batonning away to a specific boulangerie, taking roundabout paths. Halfway there, the Ladyphone got a text:

CN: hope your date goes well :black_cat_emoji:

She smiled and shot back:

LB: yours too! ;)

 

* * *

 

As quietly as possible, Ladybug made her way back to her bakery, yo-yoed to the tiny window of the upstairs bathroom, and wriggled her way into the shower stall. Everything was quiet--it didn't look like anyone had come looking for her, and the bathroom door was still closed.

She detransformed and tiptoed up the stairs to the sleeping remnants of her party, Tikki trailing behind. Cover story acquired, hangover cured, everything fine.

 

* * *

 

A black-clad figure snuck, chatlike, up the wall of the warehouse abutting Marinette’s home, scuttling over the roofs to minimize his visibility. When he crawled down onto Marinette’s balcony, he lay down and detransformed. Plagg nestled into his hair and started snoring.

Carefully and silently, he lifted the trapdoor and lowered himself back into Marinette’s bed. Alibi established, no one the wiser.

 

* * *

 

Everyone on the floor was still asleep when Marinette snuck into her room. She picked her way among the entangled limbs of her classmates, replacing a blanket where it had slipped off of a nude body part here or there. _Impeccable_ hostess.

She was climbing the steps to her bed, looking forward to maybe sleeping in with Adrien some more, when she noticed three things.

First: Adrien had descended from her balcony, and was looking right at her, red-faced.

Second, when she detransformed, she returned to the clothing she had been wearing when she transformed.

Third, she had taken a pillow with her down to the bathroom, but had not returned with it.

Adrien made a choked sound, and hurled his head up and away from Marinette’s chest. Marinette looked down and saw that she had, indeed, been displaying her ladylike accouterments in full force. Her bra, she belatedly saw, was still on the sheets.

She stifled a yelp, or a scream, successfully turning it into more of a strangled grunt.  _Tres_ sexy. One hand raced across her chest in some semblance of modesty, and the other lifted up the edge of the blanket, which she dove under.

Well she'd been right. She had to save Paris; _now_ she could die of shame.

Under the comforter, she huddled into a ball and squirmed, groaning to herself in distress. She felt Adrien’s weight settle next to her.

“I’m sorry, I should have looked away sooner,” he whispered. “I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to, I swear. I can go. I'll just go.”

“Mmmno,” whispered the comforter. “I can't believe I did that.”

“Uh… so you don't want me to leave?”

“Uuuhhhhngghhnnn.”

“Um…” said Adrien. Unsure what to do, he patted the mount of comforter and teenager in what he hoped would be a comforting way.

He had accidentally groped this girl, accidentally popped her bra off and glimpsed her nipple, and _now_ had accidentally seen her completely topless. And kind of saved Paris in the meantime, but whatever.  Last night had been exciting and great, but this morning was leaving much to be desired. Adrien felt like history’s greatest villain. He should just go.

“I'm so sorry, seriously, I didn't mean to embarrass you, I really mean it. I'll go, I don't want you to…”

A slender hand had poked out from the comforter and wrapped itself around his wrist. The comforter lump was jiggling. Was that--was Marinette shaking her head?

“So… I'll stay?”

The jiggling changed direction. A nod?

“Okay. I'll just… sort of lay down here.”

Adrien reclined next to his curled-up classmate, not sure how exactly to behave. He looked down and cursed.

_Of all the times…_ In true teenage boy style, the morning itself and the sight of the mostly-nude girl had made him involuntarily establish a tent city in his Gabriel-brand boxer-briefs. _Now Marinette will think I'm a world class pervert for sure_ . _Perfect._

_Okay Adrien think. What would a decent human being, unlike yourself, do?_

He looked around, unsure how to make this situation any less mortifying. Sporting a boner, in a bed with a mostly naked girl, who was his host…

He spotted a spotted red cup peeking out from a stray fold of the blanket. Marinette’s Ladybug bra, of course! Maybe that would help.

He grabbed the bra and pushed it into the hand gripping his wrist, keeping him in the bed.

“Sorry, I thought you might want this, I didn't want to reach under there and have you think I was trying to… you know,” he whispered. _Grope you, or anything,_ he completed for himself, along with some startlingly vivid mental images. _Quit it, brain!_

“Th-thank you Adrien,” the pile whispered back. The slim hand pulled the garment under the blanket and the whole pile began to rock gently. Presumably she was re-garbing herself.

The mental image of his classmate returning her _petitons_ to their rightful homes in a ladybug bra did nothing to disassemble his personal nether tent. He snuck a pillow from Marinette’s pile of them, and pressed it against his crotch in what he hoped was an obviously not perverted way. He was not confident in his success.

The comforter pile stretched and lengthened, and Marinette’s head popped out from the edge just enough to let her immense blue eyes out.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Even sober, in the light of day, Adrien found himself looking at her much, much differently than he had just days ago at school. Wine-Marinette had fundamentally changed his perception of Marinette-Marinette, and he wasn't going to go back to his previous ignorance.

“S-sure,” he whispered back. Words were harder now that there wasn't a blanket between her eyes and his.

He felt himself blushing under her gaze--a rare enough situation for a model. He looked away from her, and heard her give a little gasp. Looking back, he saw she was looking down his body to his waist--where he was holding her pillow against his morning visitor.

“I-it's not what it looks like!” He whispered, with as much emphasis as he could. “I'm not trying to, uh… harass your pillow I just… and you were… and it's… and I couldn't help it?”

Marinette kicked her leg and flung a corner of the blanket over him. Her eyes were resolutely locked on his face now.

“So… you didn't just… uh… last night, with me, because of the drinks, then?” Her words were slightly muffled by the comforter still covering half of her face.

“N-no. Um. I'm  not sure how to say this but… yeah. I liked how… um. How they look? Is that okay? I shouldn't have said that sorry.” _Dammit Adrien what are you even doing._

Marinette’s face was bright red against the pink of her bedspread, and her eyes rounded in surprise, and something else. She withdrew under the blanket until only her bangs and tips of her pigtails were poking out.

“It's fine…”

Adrien started.

“Are you sure? I don't want to make it seem like I just like your… uh…  shape?” _Shut up, Agreste, what the hell not helping!_

“Well… I'm glad you liked it so much.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

…

“We really have to stop embarrassing each other so hard,” whispered Marinette.

“I completely agree.”

“Do you… still want to get coffee with me?”

“I really do.”

“A dare is a dare, and all.”

Marinette folded more of the comforter over Adrien. She had gotten close again, almost close enough to spoon. And Adrien had gotten closer to her. She was warm.

“You don't need to dare me to ask me out,” he said, hoping to not _foutre_ it up this time.

“R-really?” He could hear her breath catch in her throat. Was she--did he do that to her? It was almost too absurd to even consider.

_Go for it, Agreste. Ladybug supports you._ “Yeah! In fact… do you want to go out sometime?”

Marinette hid her face under the sheet again, not trusting herself to speak. All she could do was nod. Vigorously. But she figured verbal confirmation should happen. She peeked her mouth out from the comforter, thinking aggressively to herself, _You had better not mess this up, Dupain-Cheng._

“Y-y-yes. Yes! I would love that.” _Okay nice hustle, Dupain-Cheng. Now smile, make sure he gets it._

Her internal voice was sounding more and more like Alya, which was likely a good thing. The two teens lay smiling at each other, silent, for a while.

“And let's promise to not be so embarrassed,” added Adrien. Merde _. Should I have said that? I shouldn’t have said that. I made it weird, I seriously--_

“Okay,” Marinette agreed. “I’ll try.”

“Me too.”

A few more moments passed, in that comfortable state of anticipation where something good is just over, _just over_ , the horizon, and you know it will make everything better when it’s here. The world was getting softer, blurrier, and sweeping itself into the rounded shapes and pastel impressions of a very good dream.

“Adrien…”

“Yeah?”

“Are you still a little drunk? Because I'm not.” Her words felt thick and slurry with sleep in her mouth. _Apparently, lucky charm coffee doesn’t last_.

“I sobered up yeah. I'm not even hungover,” Adrien answered. His words were also considerably more mumbly than before; he must have gotten tired out from the excitement of being woken up by the Akuma.

Marinette smiled internally. _You're welcome, and thank you, Miraculous Ladybug._

“I still want to get a few hours of sleep in…”

“Yeah…”

“But now we're not drunk…”

“Yeah…”

“So I was wondering…”

“Yeah…”

“Since you've already seen me … and it's weird that you saw my… ladies… but we haven't… done anything else…”

Adrien turned brighter and brighter red as she drew it out. It proved to be too much for him. “Would you like a goodnight kiss?” he asked. “Uh… a good morning kiss?”

“More than anything,” she whispered.

They slid their bodies closer, touching at a thousand electric points along each other. Adrien’s pillow kept them apart at their most intimate zones, but everywhere else, they melted, welding to each other.

Adrien’s arm snaked around her shoulders to press her to him, and laid his other hand across her cheek. Marinette ran a hand through his messy blonde mop, trailing her other down his side and along the small of his back. Everything was soft, and safe, and warm.

But...

Each potential partner to this potential kiss had worn themselves to a nub, more nub-wearing than even Marinette was used to. The temptations of a good-morning kiss were powerful, but even _literally magic_ coffee couldn't keep the two superheroes awake. Bare centimeters apart, Marinette passed out and unconsciously snuggled her face into Adrien's chest and throat. Adrien fell asleep at the same instant, tucking his chin on her head, holding her snugly in his arms. Instead of a kiss, they shared one powerful, unifying snore.

Some people are born to sleep alone, and some are born to cuddle, and they had both discovered that they were the latter.

Too-few hours later, a flash and a click woke them up, and Alya had acquired a new wallpaper for her phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, the chapter that originally inspired me to write this fic! Nothing gets me typing like imagining drunk teenage superheroes trying to defend the city. Well, that and an opportunity to embarrass a fictional teenager.
> 
> I'm like 90% sure coffee curing a hangover is an urban legend, but damn if I don't always need some after I drink. Don't take your advice on alcohol from this fanfiction, kids.


	12. In Which Clothing Is Distributed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya wakes Adrien and Marinette up in exactly the way you would expect, given the entirety of the show and the library of fanart. Marinette attempts to mediate her embarrassment per her agreement with Adrien, and Adrien is in for a little surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but this is a nice natural break, and I need to finalize some things on the next bit. Enjoy!
> 
> I am so thrilled and blown away by everyone's comments and appreciation! Thank you so much! I really value everyone who takes time to comment or leave kudos, or even just read this dang thing. Y'all are all great, and you really keep me going. I keep having immense dumb ideas for this fic, and I am REALLY looking forward to them. And y'all keep me so inspired. 
> 
> If you like it, tell a friend! If you hate it, tell an enemy! I love and admire you all.

_Each potential partner to this potential kiss had worn themselves to a nub, more nub-wearing than even Marinette was used to. The temptations of a good-morning kiss were powerful, but even literally magic coffee couldn't keep the two superheroes awake. Bare centimeters apart, Marinette passed out and unconsciously snuggled her face into Adrien's chest and throat. Adrien fell asleep at the same instant, tucking his chin on her head, holding her snugly in his arms. Instead of a kiss, they shared one powerful, unifying snore._

_Some people are born to sleep alone, and some are born to cuddle, and they had both discovered that they were the latter._

_Too-few hours later, a flash and a click woke them up, and Alya had acquired a new wallpaper for her phone._

 

* * *

 

Marinette woke up with her eyes still closed, reveling in the perfect amniotic warmth of her bed. In the back of her mind, some mysteriously functional internal clock told her it was Saturday and nothing was going on. The day was hers and she wasn't in any rush to do _anything_.

So, since time wasn't a factor, she decided to waste a little in her favorite way.

Nothing special, no need to light candles, eyes closed to keep the sleepy illusion of still being in the middle of a dream. A dream visited by a sexually ravenous blonde cinnamon roll, tracing his _very_ familiar route through her favorite fantasies. Her hand was lazily sneaking itself bijouwards as she involuntarily hummed to herself and felt a light, personal blush tickle her face.

“Mmm, why yes, Adrien, this croquembouche _is_ big enough for two…” she mumbled to herself.

She was just getting into the first 20% of her daily quota when a flash of bright light startled her out of the Directory with herself.

“Buh,” she demanded, reluctantly opening her eyes. _Did I accidentally transform in my sleep? That would be embarrassing. Tikki would tease me so hard and I'd have to feed her cookies for--wait. Alya!?_

Had she been more awake, Marinette might have cursed her perennial sleep-triggered short term amnesia. As it was, she was simply perplexed that Alya was leaning over her, rapidly snapping pictures on Paris’ hardest-working cellphone.

“ _Merde_ , flash came on…” she mumbled to herself, as Marinette tried to piece together any scattered tidbits of recent events.

“Alya whyyyy…” was all she managed to moan, as the overly-investigative journalist yelped slightly and smiled awkwardly. “Uuuughhhh,” she complained, trying to roll over and hide from the sun and it's painful face under her tiger pillow.

She managed to roll over, but the pillow was stuck under something. _Perfect, woken up and now I can't even--_

“Good morning,” chimed a hundred gleaming golden bells.

Marinette found herself nose to nose with 1.8 meters of Gabriel-branded teen, staring into her with eyes greener than something so _exceptionally_ green that it would defy description, if only she was capable of cogent metaphor.

“A-Adrien!?”

She scooted herself backwards to the wall, escaping a perfect boy for some reason. _What? Why? How did Adrien Agreste wind up in my bed? Why is Alya taking pictures? Why--I need a quick montage. Highlight reel. To determine how much I have to freak out._

Party. Truth or dare. Body shots. Semi-mutual masturbation. Akuma. Coffee. Boobs.

_Okay, I remember enough to know I need to hide under my bed until the sun is a dull grey husk._

Marinette squeaked at an impossibly high register, startling several poodles in the park next door but leaving her friends unscathed. She frantically pulled the covers over her head, earning a surprised “hey!” from a suddenly-unblanketed Adrien. In the dim light under her comforter, she noticed that she was only in her underthings. She squeaked again, her voice melting into a soft wail, before fading into a petulant moan. She curled into a ball under her blanket, only to bump her face directly into a chiseled torso.

“Sorry, I got cold,” said a voice from the bright, scary world outside the blanket. The world warned of in song and story. “I'm just in boxers.”

Marinette continued her howl directly into Adrien’s chest as she filled in the details between the big set-pieces of her memory montage. Horrifying as these sudden morning revelations were, Adrien’s chest was still Adrien’s chest, and she nuzzled into it, quietly screaming.

“It’s… okay?” Adrien said, patting where he was pretty sure her her head was through the blankets. “We said we weren't going to embarrass each other anymore, remember, Marinette?”

“But it's Alya’s fault nowwww,” she whined into his flawless body. “I can still be embarrassed because Alya.”

“Don't be embarrassed, _mon petite_! I'm so proud of you, girl! I had to commemorate it.” Alya was scrolling through her pictures, finding the best ones. “Best,” of course, being a highly relative term. She started taking some more.

“Alya, I don't think you're helping,” said Adrien. He realized that in front of Alya’s phone camera he had been instinctively doing modeling poses, and he forced himself to stop with a considerable effort of will.

“Completely not what I was trying to do.” She smirked at Adrien and tugged the sheet off of an increasingly appalled Marinette, who yelped. “Whoa--damn, girl, I knew you lost the shirt, but what happened to your pants?”

Marinette frantically scrambled for the sheets, prying them out of Alya’s hand. The blogger was no match for the scrappy seamstress on a good day, and the former was still devoting one full hand to snapping pictures of the bedbound lovebirds. Marinette cloaked herself and Adrien in fluffy blankets up to their noses, peeking out meekly.

“Um,” said Adrien. Marinette and Alya locked their eyes onto his face, just in time to see him rip his own gaze from the ceiling above them. “Nothing.” The girls both retraced the line of his gaze back to the point where he had been staring.

Adhered by some unseen force, Marinette's pajama pants were thoroughly stuck to the ceiling.

Blink. Blink.

Alya got it first.

In her peripheral vision, Marinette saw her friend’s face slowly widen into an incredibly broad, wide-eyed, expression of unrestrained delight. Alya sucked in a deep, deliberate breath, turning a pair of bright golden eyes onto Marinette.

It slowly began to click for Marinette, puzzling pieces into place from the disjointed impressions of a drunken evening.

Marinette’s extremely forward dare. The loss of some pants. Looking into each other's eyes. Adrien’s need for a _torchon de noixx._ His unnoticed disposal of said rag.

 _Oh no_.

She felt her eyes pulled inevitably, unstoppably, to Adrien. Adrien, who was currently as red as he was beautiful and perfect. Adrien, sliding under the blanket, hiding. So much like Marinette herself.

_I must really be rubbing off on him._

_…_

_OH_ MERDE _I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT._

_…_

_Dammit I_ do _actually mean it like that, too._

Marinette joined Adrien in hiding under the covers, red-faced and trembling, before she even tried to muster the fortitude to look at Alya.

Alya was gleefully, _cartoonishly_ joyous. Her mouth was an immense, open, toothy smile almost wide enough to lose her entire smartphone in. Her eyes were great golden orbs shining absurdly bright in the light of the late morning, and she had bunched her hands into fists directly under her mouth. It looked like her whole body was nodding, precipitously balanced on Marinette’s bed-stairs. Emitting a high-pitched squeal. Seeing. _Knowing_.

The embarrassed hostess tried to resolve herself into a dew, but not even Shakespeare could save her from Alya’s attention. _She knew_ . She knew, and she would want _details_ , and oh _foutre_ , there were _other people about_.

For how great last night had been, this morning left much to be desired.

 _Then again…_ She turned to face Adrien, who caught her gaze and looked back at her. They both looked away, shyly; as shy as possible, for two people in their undies sharing the same bed and blanket. _Then again… we do have a date._

Okay, chalk the morning up to a win, regardless of any breaking news.

 _Oh my heck and we also almost kissed! Aagh! We got so close! I can’t believe we just passed out on each other instead!_ Foutre!

So maybe a stalemate.

“Um, Alya?” said Adrien, very intentionally looking to the side..

“Yyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeesssss…..?”

“You, uh… I’m pretty sure your bra… is somewhere else?”

Alya dropped her eyes to her own chest. Adrien hadn’t needed a fashion-conscious eye to note the current state of her feminine assets--under her white camisole, Alya was providing ample evidence that the temperature that morning was a bit nippy.

She shrugged.

“It’s just tits, Agreste. Bounce bounce,” she said, as she did. “Don’t try to change the subject. I demand details.”

“Alya no!” begged Marinette.

“Alya yes! Start talking or I crawl under there with you.”

“Alya!” Marinette was lightly scandalized. She wasn’t surprised that Alya had lost her bra in the tumult of last night, by any means, but she normally didn’t go around teasing people this early in the morning. “It’s like six a.m.!”

“It’s eleven thirty! Tick tock, Marinette!”

Marinette dragged her head under the sheets, ostensibly to stew in shame, but secretly to look at Adrien’s mostly-nude form under the covers. Sure, there wasn’t much light, but Marinette had a _very_ good imagination. She could even just make out the--

_Focus._

“I will tell you whatever you want to know if you let us put some clothes on. And also leave Adrien alone.” Marinette considered waving a literal white flag, but the only available cloth was pink, ladybug-patterned, or attached to Adrien Agreste’s most pertinent details. No surrender here. “Also get us some clothes, please?” she added, as an afterthought, mostly not serious.

“Yes, please?” asked Adrien, blushing bright enough that Marinette could tell under the covers.

“Had a big night, huh, Adrien? I suppose I’ll let you off the hook.” She laughed waved them down the stairs. “You might as well come on down, everyone else is already awake and I’ve got Rose prepping French toast. Or as we say in France, toast.”

Marinette peeked above the covers again. The only thing that could potentially draw her attention away from even a subpar view of Adrien’s figure was Alya’s cooking. And, of course, if she made Adrien go get her some clothing ,she could have _both_.

Alya descended the stairs, cackling to herself as she didn’t even pretend to stop to throw them up a pair of shirts and preserve their modesty. “Take your time, you two! Stay connected!”

Steam sizzled out of Marinette’s ears, mingling with the steam coming off of Adrien. _Stay connected, indeed_ . _You fiend_ , thought Marinette. _I hate your catchphrase sometimes_.

After another glance at Adrien’s semi-nude form, however: _Nevermind. I want to get really, really connected._

The parting tease, however, reminded both Marinette and Adrien that they were very unclad and very in bed with each other. And that they had almost kissed. And that they had slept holding each other. And that they had served as each other’s audiences for what was normally a very _private_ (if frequent) ritual. And that Marinette’s pajama pants were currently stuck to the ceiling of her bed-nook, because of that very activity.

Their blushes from Alya’s parting comment had barely faded when they both doubled down on blushing. Promising to be less embarrassed around each other had substantially less weight than they thought it might, particularly when being caught _in flagrante_ by a journalist who was clearly experimenting with paparazzi practices. And they had barely been _in flagrante_ at all!

 _Well_ , thought Marinette. _Except for the fact that I started my morning with the standard self-session. That’s slightly scandalous_ . She thought back to the various confessions of last night. _Well, maybe it’s not scandalous anymore, if it’s so well-known._

She froze. _Oh merde. Alya took a_ picture _of me while I was…_

Adrien was still blushing, even as Marinette went pale at the thought, and he chose this moment to interject.

“I am so, so sorry about your pajama pants.”

“Aaa! Adrien!”

“Um… yes?”

Foutre, _I really must stop being so distracted by my own thoughts._ “Sorry! Ah, um. Good morning! Didn’t say that… earlier… oh and… it’s fine. Seriously! You’re fine. So perfect. The pants! I mean the pants. Fine. So fine. I--aa! Sorry. Yes.” _How? How have I lost so much progress from last night? From earlier this morning?_ How _, self?_

Adrien smiled, trying to make it look reassuring, and failing miserably. Mouth too wide, teeth too prominent. It was not assisted by his rapid back-and-forth glances. Years of modeling, and he had nothing for an awkward morning-after situation. _Perfect, Agreste, messing it up already, right after Ladybug said to go for it._

“Adrien?”

He looked at her. She was shrinking slightly under the covers again.

“Could you… maybe go get me some clothes? I… don’t know if I can handle a room/bed transition like last time.”

Adrien had a sudden, intense flashback of Marinette padding up the stairs to her lofted bed, missing the pillow she’d covered herself with when she’d left to use the bathroom. He had gotten quite the eyeful and had, to his intense shame, not managed to stir up the backbone to look away.

“Of course, Marinette, I’m so sorry about last time. I--I should have looked away, I feel so awful that I didn’t, seriously if you--”

“It’s fine, Adrien! It’s fine. I… should be less forgetful.”

“No, no! I really should have--”

“I’ll completely forgive you if you can get me some clothes from my wardrobe. I… don’t think I can handle getting out of bed like this now that everyone’s awake.”

“O-of course! Right away. Immediately.” Adrien was already on his way out of the bed, scrambling down to floor level.

Marinette managed to keep her face bashful and hidden under the sheets until right after he’d turned his back. Once he wasn’t facing her, she leered with a look so perverse they wouldn’t draw it in hentai. Adrien Agreste, nude but for tight boxer-briefs, scampering around at her command. She bit her lip, to stop herself from drooling.

He was mostly nude now, she figured. Last night they’d been mostly naked. Nude meant no clothes on. Naked meant no clothes on, and up to something. Either way, he was a _pristine_ sight.

 

* * *

 

Adrien scrambled down the ladder tripped over discarded pillows and blankets before catching himself right before careening face-first into Marinette’s wardrobe. He reached for the handle, but stopped himself.

 _Think, Agreste. She just asked you to get her some clothing, but you can’t pillage her wardrobe like a_ foutu _Hun! She’d be embarrassed if you rifled through her unmentionables! Rummaged through her underthings! Manhandled her intimates!_

He had to rebut himself, slightly. _She kind of seems like she might like it if I manhandle her--_

_Shut up, Agreste! You cad! You lothario! Be a gentleman and try not to look!_

Taking his own internal (if conflicted) advice, Adrien reached into Marinette’s wardrobe and grabbed the first thing that felt like a shirt, gently displacing it from its thick, padded hanger. Reaching lower, below the tops, he felt something soft and flannelly--probably another pair of pajama pants. After last night, he was _very_ fond of that style of pajama.

_I wonder if they feel as good on my--Dammit, Agreste! Control yourself! You fiend!_

Eyes closed, he handed the bundled-up clothing to Marinette in her loft, and after a brief wait felt her smaller hands take it from him.

“Thank you, Adrien.”

Adrien sighed, smiled, and turned away, starting on a quest to find his own clothes, now that his hostess could get dressed. “Of course, Marinette.”

 

* * *

 

Marinette stood and admired Adrien for a moment, as he lifted the bundle up to her loft. Almost entirely nude, seemingly supplicant, offering her clothing before he had even considered getting his own. He wasn’t even looking at her--she’d lay good money that he hadn’t even looked inside her wardrobe. _Such a gentleman_.

She moved to pull on the clothing. Her flannel pants were cozy and warm against her, trapping the warmth from under the covers. She moved to pull her shirt over her head, cursing it because it would break her line of sight to Adrien’s extremely well-defined--

Wait. This shirt  wasn’t hers.

Marinette’s nose broke the news. The sense of smell is one of the most immediate human senses, triggering reactions and associations and emotions faster than any other. Marinette had been raised in a bakery. Sublimely pleasing scents of baked patisserie and sundries were her constant companion. She was no stranger to appetizing scents. However, she whetted a substantially different appetite from suddenly wearing Adrien’s garment. Catching the scent of Adrien’s shirt, his natural cologne suffusing her entire torso as she greedily tugged it on, the delicate man-perfume of Adrien overwhelming her entirely--all of it reduced her to a temporarily immobile, quivering mass.

 

* * *

 

She paused, shirt half over her head, leaving her face suffused with Agreste boy-musk. It no longer had the warmth it had last night, but it was still suffused with Adrienness. To Marinette’s bakery-honed olfaction, it might as well have been doused in that particular cologne. Still partly stuffed into the shirt, she inhaled deeply, shuddering with both pleasure and the certainty that she was far, far too obsessed for her own good.

Adrien wasn’t a huge person, but he was larger than Marinette and men’s shirts are cut very differently than women’s; the shirt draped loosely over her, coming down almost to mid-thigh. It was soft, fashionable, and exquisitely made, managing to look perfectly designed even on a very different wearer. Marinette couldn’t get enough of it’s feel on her skin, and the essence of Adrien all over her. She needed to be touching it more.

Alix had pulled a neat trick, last night. Time to see if Marinette could swing it.

She kept her eyes on Adrien, still rummaging through his satchel for clothing. Reaching behind herself, Marinette popped the clasp of her bra, not needing Tikki’s assistance this time. Adrien’s boy-cut shirt had larger arm-holes than Alix’s spandex getup had, so she easily slipped her bra straps off and down her arms. One quick yank from under the bottom of the shirt, and Marinette was as skin-to-shirt as you can get. _Thanks, Alix_ , thought Marinette. _You’re an inspiration to us all._

She stashed her bra under the covers and descended the stairs. Adrien had located a secondary shirt and a pair of his own actual pajama pants, and had gotten himself decent in the interim.

 _Goodbye, pecs_ , she thought. _I will see you again… someday…_

Adrien turned around.

“Hey, Marinette! Oh,” he said, noticing her state of dress. “I didn’t realize I’d grabbed my own shirt for you. Sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, it’s really… comfortable.” Marinette blushed a surprisingly small amount. “Roomy. _Luxurious_.”

“Ha ha! Good! Yeah. Good.”

They beamed at each other, mostly wearing Adrien’s clothing.

“This is better. We’re doing better.” Adrien was holding the back of his neck again, and blushing.

“Yeah! I’m hardly embarrassed at all,” Marinette spoke, too soon.

“ADRIEN! Alya says to tell Marinette to bijou-bonk on her own time! We’ve got breakfast down here,” Ivan yelled, thunderous syllables bashing their way through the open trap door. As the unequivocally loudest student at Lycée Francois-Dupont (and in Collége and in École), it appeared that he had been deputized as temporary P.A. system. Marinette thought that she felt the floorboards vibrate.

“We seriously don’t want to miss Alya’s cooking,” said Marinette.

“Definitely.”

They scooted closer to each other, barely a Tikki-width apart

“Plus she’s into Gordon Ramsey so you know it has to be good,” she added.

“Yeah, for her lover true.”

Marinette felt her eyes begin to close at the word “lover,” and her head tilted up, independent of conscious thought.

“Can’t let down ol’ Gordon,” she whispered.

Her hand reached up to rest on Adrien’s chest, feeling his muscles twitch and tighten under the thin cotton of the shirt.

“You know… we both fell asleep before we managed to share that goodnight kiss,” he said.

Adrien’s head bent down, and his hand went to Marinette’s waist.

“It was really more of a good morning kiss, you know.”

“I do know,” he replied. “And it’s the morning right now.”

Marinette raised herself onto her toes, leaning her whole body closer to Adrien. So near she could feel the heat coming off of him, through her shirt. Adrien’s hand came up to cradle her cheek, and she felt him lower his face to hers.

“WE HAVE COFFEE YOU FOOLS,” shouted Nino.

“JUST A SECOND,” shouted the upstairs teens, in unison, pulling apart in surprise at the sudden announcement.

Marinette’s eyes shot open, cruelly ripped from their reverie, no longer lulled by Adrien’s potential kiss-invitation. Her lips, unsmooched. Her virtue, unbesmirched. Adrien’s hand snapped to the back of his neck fast enough that it must have superheated the air around it because _boy did it get hot in here or something I feel like it’s hot in here who’s sweating anyone else_?

They laughed awkwardly at each other, and at themselves. The tension of the immediately preceding moment was gone, replaced with uncertainty and awkwardness.

Well, at least it was familiar.

“Sorry about that.” Adrien was holding the back of his head again. “Didn’t mean to…”

“No, it’s fine! Seriously! Ha ha, yes, nothing bad, nothing wrong. Nothing to apologize for. Just... just… yum, breakfast, good.” Marinette kicked herself, internally, for her inability to form worthwhile sentences. _Why_.... she asked herself for the thousandth time that day.

“You know,” Adrien started, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Even if there’s coffee down there, this doesn’t make it a coffee date.”

“I-it’s not, agreed,” Marinette added, her stutter sparked by the feel of Adrien’s skin on her own.

“So you still have to come get coffee with me sometime.”

“O-o-ok-kay,” sputtered Marinette. “G-great!”

“Different coffee. In a cafe.”

“Y-yes! Coffofee caff-o-fay foffee… uh… yes!”

Adrien beamed a destructively powerful smile at her, and let her hand go with a final squeeze. He turned to move down the stairs, and Marinette’s eyes snapped, unbidden, to his shapely posterior.

 _Control yourself, Marinette_ , she tried to convince herself.

 _But it’s right_ there _,_ she argued back.

_Okay good point, it’s still definitely Adrien, who is perfect and has been very good._

And speaking of very good, Marinette recalled a brief promise she had made to him last night, regarding her ladybug-print panties. And so she had a very, very good idea.

“I’ll be right down!” she called to the group below.

“Yeah we know you’ve got a schedule to keep!” came the inevitable reply. “Gotta knead the pink dough!”

_Why, Alix. Why._

Marinette didn’t have time to complete her usual morning routine--plus she had a sneaking suspicion that people might be listening for just such a solo activity--but she had to lose some of her clothing for other reasons.

As quick as she was able, she stripped off her pajama bottoms and ladybug panties from last night, stuffing the latter into Adrien’s duffel bag, under several other folded garments. She’d promised to show him, and he’d gotten a definite peek this morning during the akuma attack. But her other frontward assets might have been distracting him. So, truly, the only choice was to leave her panties where she knew he would find them. Promise kept.

She turned to the trapdoor, ready to join her friends for brunch, remembered that she was still half naked, even under Adrien’s shirt, and replaced her pajama pants. Going as commando as Alix, she called out to her friends as she descended.

“Coming!”

She immediately regretted her choice of words. Everyone crowed with laughter at her unintentional pun, but Marinette couldn’t even find it in herself to blush. Instead, she smiled a secret smile to herself and met Adrien’s eyes at the table, gleefully anticipating his reaction to her little red-and-black flirtation timebomb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is the nude/naked distinction a thing anywhere else? I'm from Texas, and that's where I heard it. 
> 
> Also, finding surprise panties is EXTREMELY GREAT, at least in my experience.
> 
> Adrien height estimate courtesy of http://mlscience.tumblr.com/post/133708529069/how-tall-is-chat-noir-as-a-science-and.
> 
> EDIT: Corrected Collége to Lycée


	13. In Which Similes Are Employed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning-after party turns into a relaxed and decadent brunch, and several individuals are very cute. After a very French discussion, Alya sneaks away to do a bit of investigative journalism. Marinette joins her for a series of involved comparisons. Details are exchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some remarkably foul metaphors.

_Marinette turned to the trapdoor, ready to join her friends for brunch, remembered that she was still half naked, even under Adrien’s shirt, and replaced her pajama pants. Going as commando as Alix, she called out to her friends as she descended._

_“Coming!”_

_She immediately regretted her choice of words. Everyone crowed with laughter at her unintentional pun, but Marinette couldn’t even find it in herself to blush. Instead, she smiled a secret smile to herself and met Adrien’s eyes at the table, gleefully anticipating his reaction to her little red-and-black flirtation timebomb._

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, Alya had taken the rare opportunity of a bakery full of supplies to concoct a thoroughly decadent breakfast. Rose and Nino had been conscripted as sous-chefs, scampering to Alya’s barked culinary whims, frantically scraping together hard-to-locate ingredients and keeping her abreast of the status of various crepes, toasts, French omelets (or “omelets”), and various reductions. Alya rarely had such a mighty need to celebrate and impress, and the Dupain-Cheng bakery had everything she needed to work her magic.

The parallel with a certain loud celebrity chef was lost on no one. Nino in particular looked slightly green around the gills every time he inadvertently transposed his mental conception of Alya with a mental image of Gordon Ramsey. He prayed that he would be able to excise that particular juxtaposition before their next intimate moment.

The couches were full of teens, barely awake but for the grace of the Dupain-Cheng family French press, which we have established that the French refer to simply as a “press.” Ivan was slumped into the sofa, head thrown back, alternating between snoring and sputtering awake. Mylene had a half-finished bowl of _chocolat chaud_ balanced between her knees, and was reclining on Ivan’s belly, hair a chrysanthemum all around her head. She delicately sipped a cup of coffee, unwilling to sit up and stop touching Ivan, and unable to resist the siren song of caffeine. She looked like she was wearing one of Ivan’s shirts, to the surprise of no one.

Alix propped up Ivan’s other side. She had also acquired one of Ivan’s t-shirts at some point in the morning, and might not have been wearing anything else--standing up, it came down to her calves, if not lower, and she was safely and easily tucked within its folds. She had turtled her head inside its cavernous dimensions, the neck opening falling like a hood over her face, and held her coffee between two cloth flippers poking out from the chest of the garment. The sleeves hung, loose and unused, at the sides. Only the occasional movement of her cup of coffee to the neck hole (transported by her two black cotton pseudopods) indicated that she was present and awake at all.

Juleka had posted up at the table, gazing at the hustle and bustle of the kitchen as a convenient excuse to ogle Rose. Her chin rested on steepled fingers, and her one visible eye had a dreamy glaze to it. It looked like she and Rose had kept the spirit of the dare from last night going; Juleka was in pink and gold pajamas, and Rose was in black and purple.

Say what you will about the students of Lycée Francois-Dupont: they stuck to a theme, and they stick to a dare.

Of course, no guest caught Marinette’s eye as much as Adrien, who shimmered in his seat at the table, wrapping his fingers around a plain coffee cup which had been transmogrified into finest china by his merest touch. He had artfully draped himself across the tall chair, the perfect image of teen relaxation. A lone beam of sunlight struck him, and illuminated every glinting golden strand of his hair.

Well, that’s what it looked like to Marinette, anyways.

She joined him at the table, shyly snatching a glance at his face, before quietly lapsing into the same wearied stupor that accompanies every morning before coffee. Her embarrassment-churned adrenaline fled her system, and all she or any of her peers needed was an aggressively decadent _brunch_. Only Alya and Rose seemed immune to the general languor; Nino was running around more at the behest of Alya than because of his own energy reserves.

“Mimosa!” Rose placed two fizzy orange beverages in front of Adrien and Marinette. “Champagne can make anything a party, even breakfast!”

“Whoa, drinking for breakfast? The world is my oyster!” Arien double-fisted his breakfast liquids as enthusiastically as he could. Coffee in his right hand, silver ring clinking on the cup, and mimosa flute in his left hand. “I have never felt so powerful.”

“Cheers,” said Marinette, bonking her flute against his. Where had Alya even found champagne flutes?

“Food’s up, chumps. We have crepes, fillings, omelets, toast, coffee, mimosas, Rose’s very pretty fruit basket, thank you Rose, hot chocolate, and all the leftover pastries you could want. Feast.” Alya deposited an immense stack of crepes and their assorted fillings on the center of the table.

Everyone began to enjoy the repast in silence, broken only by sensual beast noises of pleasure at Alya’s masterful cookery. Eventually the concerted efforts of food, coffee, morning-booze, and rising sexual tension brought the group into some semblance of social interaction.

“ _Sacre merde_ , I can’t believe how French all of this is,” started Ivan. “Crepes, French press coffee, mimosas, pastries. Seriously. We are all part of a stereotype.”

“Mylene’s a mime,” added Marinette.

“And _what_ a mime!” exclaimed Alix. Everyone remembered her performance from last night. Remembered very, very well. Ivan shifted in his seat, crossing his legs slightly. Some could remember more clearly than others, perhaps.

“Nino’s a DJ! Like his boyfriends!” Rose meant well, of course, but everyone cackled lightly at the reminder of Nino’s romantic interest in Daft Punk. Up all night to get lucky, indeed.

“And Marinette’s an artist and a fashion designer,” said Adrien. “Both highly Gallic.”

“And you take fencing classes every Friday,” added Marinette.

...Wait…

_TOO MUCH KNOWLEDGE OF ADRIEN'S SCHEDULE DISPLAYED! BACKPEDAL!_

“Which I know because I’ve seen you with the fencing gear! No other reason!” _Nice cover, Marinette._ “Just regular walking around observations!” _No-one the wiser_.

The fact that two members of the party spent a considerable proportion of their time swinging through the air around the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame would likely have increased the Frenchness of the gathering to unbearable levels. Regardless, the classmates neither noticed _that_ particular fact, nor the implications of Marinette’s intimate knowledge of Adrien schedules. Juleka saved the day for her:

“We’re literally two floors above a patisserie,” said Juleka. “It’s incredibly French in here. I’ve even got ennui.”

“Oh man! I _hate_ getting ennui. It’s the worst.” Alix nursed her coffee, nodding. “I get it at least two weeks a month, it’s insane.”

“Tell me about it,” replied Juleka.

“I’m more like once a season, no idea why,” said Mylene. “Maybe I get all my French out with my acting classes and mime stuff? Maybe that’s why.”

“So there’s like only _so_ French any one person can be? It builds up until you get ennui?” asked Nino. “That seems… unlikely.”

“Wait, guys… what’s ennui?” asked Adrien.

Everyone stared at him, from the table or couch, respectively. Eyes blinked, blankly, uncomprehending for a moment. Even Marinette, so aggressively enamored of him, couldn’t suppress a startled gasp.

“Adrien… you… don’t know what ennui is?” asked Nino.

“Is this another one of those things that I should have known about?”

Rose had somehow acquired another one of Ivan’s t-shirts, and was huddled inside it with Juleka. Juleka reached through the sizeable arm-hole and over the table to rest her hand on Adrien’s arm. She spoke to him, in low, soothing tones.

“Adrien, it’s not your fault. You probably didn’t have the mandated ennui class in primary school. Maybe… maybe your father just didn’t think it was necessary?”

“Wait… what is ennui? What am I missing?”

“It’s pretty much the Frenchest emotion, no big deal,” said Nino.

“Besides _love_ ,” added Rose, blinking up at Adrien, head barely peeking out of the substantial garment she was sharing with Juleka.

Alya looked slowly from the peeking girl to Marinette, and gave her a slow, deliberate look, nodding at the pair in the giant shirt, and winked at her with exaggerated slowness. “Wink.”

“Alya! You did it again! You said ‘wink’!”

“Shh, Marinette, it’s ennui.”

“Yeah,” added Juleka. “It’s just a feeling of general lassitude springing from being uninspired or missing out on distant, exciting opportunities. Pretty much everyone in France gets it, you have to be careful.”

“I went through a pretty major ennui phase,” said Ivan. “I had to stop once I got too big to fit in standard black turtlenecks.”

“Speaking of your clothes, do you have another one of those t-shirts? They look extremely comfortable and I kind of need to get Alya in one.” Nino looked with jealous eyes at Rose and Juleka. “Cozy. Love it.”

“Yeah, sure,” the sizeable fellow replied.

“Wait, wait--you mean to tell me it’s possible to _not_ feel like that all the time? Like there’s an alternate state possible?”

Adrien’s tragic question was breezed over, however, in Alya excitement to snag an Ivan-tent. Silently, Marinette brushed a single tear from her eye. She’d been listening to Adrien. Her Adrien.

Who was going to go on a _date_ with her!

“I’ll get it!,” said Alya, snapping Marinette's attention back to the present, and to the possibility of sharing a cozy oversized t-shirt with Adrien. “There’s something I need up there, anyway.”

Everyone nursed their mimosas and coffee, while Ivan told Alya where to find his bag. Apparently, he was used to the popularity of his shirts, and had brought spares for just such an occasion.

Marinette eyed Rose and Juleka cuddled into Ivan’s immense t-shirt, and considered inviting Adrien into a similar situation, measuring opening phrases, likelihoods of acceptance, and so forth. _Other clothing optional_. She slapped herself, mentally. _Settle down, me._

 _But it’s such a good cure for ennui!_ she replied to herself.

_...Okay good point. Keep thinking about that. Nice..._

She wondered whether she could get Alya to snag her a spare, when the state of her room, and in particular her lofted bed, returned to her memory. Adrien’s… contribution, last night, had added some impromptu decoration, in the form of her pajama pants, to her ceiling. And Alya had noticed.

And she was quite the investigative reporter.

“A HA HA I ALSO HAVE TO CHECK ON SOMETHING BE RIGHT BACK,” said Marinette at a reasonable, not-panicked volume, as she dashed up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

In Marinette’s loft, Alya was kneeling on Marinette’s bed, stolen meter stick in hand. She was prodding the bundle of Marinette’s pajama pants with said stick, testing how thoroughly they had been stuck to the ceiling. An expression of confusion and wonder crossed her face, becoming deeper and more profound with each poke-poke-poke she gave to the bundle of _noixx’d_ fabric.

Marinette ascended the stairs and kicked the trapdoor shut behind her.

“Alya! Why!?” she did her best to shout and also whisper, not fully trusting the closed portal to hide a full scream. “Quit doing that! Do not poke that!”

“I can’t believe it’s stuck…” Alya replied in a stunned, dreamlike voice. “How is that even possible? What did he even _do_ to them?”

“Please! Get down! _Merde_! I’ll tell you whatever you want, just stop!” Marinette began clambering up the stairs to her bed loft. “I am too weirded out to handle this right now!”

Alya managed to dislodge the bundle with a final poke, causing the pajama bottoms to flop down on the bed. A _substantial_ discolored spot remained on the pink paint of the ceiling.

“Mon dieu… it’s like oatmeal… even the morning after…”

“Aaaa! Why!?” Marinette snatched up the bundle, inadvertently bedecking herself with some of the Agreste-mortar that had so recently attached it to the ceiling.

“I thought all the makings for crepes in the house were downstairs…”

“Alya! Jesus!”

“Is there a hole in the wall? Cuz it looks like someone was trying to spackle it.”

Marinette frantically wiped her hands on the drier portions of her pajama pants. Dealing with Adrien’s hours-old _noixx_ was not _nearly_ as appealing as the fresh stuff. Well… she assumed. And Alya definitely wasn’t helping.

“Seriously, Marinette. It’s not Belgium. Where’d all this waffle batter come from? If you had just told me you had waffle batter, I could have made waffles.”

“Aaaaa!”

“I didn’t know you were making bechamel. When did you find the time to start a roux?”

“Alya stop comparing it to different thick fluids! Come on!”

“‘Cum on’ is exactly the noun and preposition I’m talking about here! Cum on your pants!”

“Please help me not die in embarrassment right now! I feel weird and this is not _nearly_ as hot as it was last night!”

“Are you talking temperature or ooh-la-laaa right now?”

Marinette almost buried her face in her hands, but remembered that they were currently benutted, and full of her pajama pants. Tragedy averted. She settled for contorting her face into an infinite abyss of sorrow and horror, emitting a soft moan of distress all the while. But Alya wasn’t done with her.

“You mean to tell me you two papier-machie’d your own clothing and aren’t going to tell me about it? Oh no, no way. I need details. Why is it that your pajamas are halfway to being a pinata right now?”

“I promise to give you details just please stop talking about my bespunked pants!”

“Girl. Girl. Settle.”

“Nothing about me could possibly settle ever again, Alya!”

Alya gave a low whistle and settled back on her heels, bouncing lightly on Marinette’s bed. “That good, huh? Do I need to check the sheets for bloodstains like you’re Marie Antoinette? Like it’s the _Ancien Regime_? Your maidenhead still intact?”

“What? No! I mean yes! It wasn’t even--”

“Okay first thing’s first, Marinette, let’s get those pants into the wash or something. Next-day-noixx is not what you want around.”

“I KNOW THAT NOW!”

“And I will release you to deal with that once you give me the _low-down on what the foutre you did last night_!”

Defeated, Marinette slumped into a pile on her bed. Alya patted her rump in what she intended to be a reassuring way. Marinette had barely enough energy to twitch in response.

“Come on, Marinette! There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, especially around me! I’ll tell you what me and Nino and Alix all did on your chaise if you start talking.” Alya tugged on the more bashful girl’s pigtails absently. “It’s a good story.”

Marinette gasped. In her horror at the state of her pajamas from last night, she had forgotten that there were likely some other… situations which might need to be dealt with, around the room. Helpless to control her reaction, she snapped upright and peered at her chaise longue.

Completely innocent-looking.

“Oh come on now, Marinette, I’m not going to leave a bunch of Ninoixx all over your furniture. I’m a good friend. And you can hear more about that after you’re done _renverser les haricots_.”

Marinette’s hitherto existing conversations with Alya had generally focused on _romance_ \--in particular, her one-sided romance with Adrien--and had tended away from the more sordid and sultry details of intimate relationships. A realization struck Marinette: there was an entire world of Alya’s that she had spent far, far too little time on. She knew about Alya’s romantic situation with Nino, such as it was, but _details_ eluded her. Now that Alya had orchestrated a veritable series of tawdry encounters, those details were both a cost she had to pay and a secret she _had_ to know. It wasn’t enough to stick to theory anymore. Last night’s party had proved that her romantic life could be very, very practical. Material. _Physical_.

And speaking of _physical_ , a question remained.

“Um… I can’t imagine how you’re okay with sharing Nino with Alix, honestly.”

“The truth is everyone’s mistress. I’ll tell you more about that particular sexual mirepoix after you start talking about _your_ night, _cherie_.”

 _You can do this, Marinette. You trust Alya. You love Alya. Light a candle for St. Alya, patron of horny teenagers worldwide._ Closing her eyes, she inhaled a long breath through her nose and blew it out her mouth in a tremendous rush. Centering herself. Preparing. Building a different type of courage--not to act on the dictates of her heart, but to posto facto _discuss_ what had happened.

Marinette’s love life had gone from hypothesis to fait accompli within twenty four hours. And now, she had to figure out how to even _approach_ debriefing Alya on her ~~debriefing~~ antics.

It was too much. Need to hide.

Marinette flopped back onto the bed and flipped the covers over herself. _Covers are protection. They will protect you from embarrassment._ Once she got to her safe position, peeking out from behind a defensive layer of textiles, she looked back up. A pair of patient, but insistent, golden eyes regarded her. Alya was no stranger to Marinette’s various coping mechanisms.

“Whenever you’re ready,” said Alya. “I’m gonna respect your boundaries a little bit, but I am also _dying_ to know. Seriously.”

“I… okay.” _Courage. Courage. Courage_. “You… remember your last dare to me? When you wanted to move up to my bed?”

“Yes, and I’m still angry.”

“You stole the virtue of my chaise!”

“Boyyyy did I. Okay we’re even, I guess,” she grinned at the beblanketed girl. “Wink.”

“No winking! So… um… well I got topless and I guess Adrien _really_ liked my ladybra and--”

“Yeah hey wait--where’d your bra go? You were wearing it in bed this morning and you were very definitely not wearing it at brunch.”

Marinette blushed, producing the undergarment from beneath the covers. Bashful. “I… may have taken it off so that I could… um… enjoy the feel of Adrien’s shirt?”

Alya erupted in a gush of laughter. “Seriously? Damn, Marinette, you’re going to drive that poor boy wild once he realizes.”

The pigtailed girl burrowed deeper under the covers. “I may also have… sort of… left my panties in his duffel bag.”

Her friend leaned over the huddled lump of covers, eyes wide, grin wider. She balanced herself on top of Marinette with outstretched hands, pinning her in place under the sheets, performing an extremely powerful and long gasp of excitement.

“YOU DID!? Marinette! I’m so proud!” Alya wiped an imaginary tear from her eye. “That’s a primo ho technique, I’m seriously impressed you went through with it.”

“I’m only a ho for Adrien! Get off! That happened way later!”

“Get off is right! Details!” Alya withdrew herself from her pin, and swung her legs around to keep Marinette in place. “No getting away, I’m keeping you here.”

Marinette groaned, but continued.

“So, Mylene dared Adrien to take a body shot off of me, and he did and it was _amazing_ Alya, seriously. I think I grew a bijou under my belly button and I almost needed something to bite down on, it was so… aaaagh, I don’t even know!”

“Boy has a tongue on him, huh? DO GO ON.”

“That’s all I found out! We went up to my bed a-and just… we…”

“Marinette don’t you _dare_ break my heart and say you didn’t do anything.”

“We didn’t kiss! We were drunk! It wouldn’t have been okay!”

“What? Marinette! That was kind of the whole point!” Alya threw her hands up. “I am aghast!”

Under her blanket, Marinette flailed her arms around, unsuccessfully. Alya was met with a feebly twitching bundle of comforter, rather than a frantic windmill of limbs.

“No! No. Neither of us has ever kissed anyone, Alya!" She shook her head, violently, reliving the hopeless moment when she'd realized the mistake. "It’s important! I-I don’t want our first kiss to be all drunk and sloppy! He doesn’t deserve that! What if he didn’t even w-want to? It would have just m-made me as bad as Chloe and I couldn’t do that! I couldn’t just make him k-kiss me and--”

Alya pressed her leg down on Marinette’s flailing hands, pinning her more thoroughly to the bed.

“Settle down, Marinette! Just tell me what happened. No judgment. You ain’t Chloe. Seriously this time.”

Marinette took two deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. The plans she had concocted with Alya had never gotten her so close to kissing Adrien before--let alone any other activities. But plotting was one thing, and executing was another, and going into extensive detail about an emotional reaction to a fundamentally flawed scheme was quite another.

“I couldn’t do it, Alya. If I made him kiss me drunk I’d never know if he would have done it sober! You can’t break the seal drunk, Alya, especially not for the first kiss! It’s the rule!”

“Okay I don’t know where that rule came from but I see what you mean.” She patted Marinette’s head affectionately with her foot. “But what _did_ you do? Those pajama pants are yours. And you didn’t _noixx_ them up yourself.”

Marinette tried to burrow even deeper under the covers, but Alya kept pulling the blankets down lower with her toes. That fiend.

“We… maybe dared each other to go on a real date and--”

“Aaaaaa!” She was interrupted by Alya’s excited scream. “Eeeeee! Yes! Keep going.”

“A-and we sort of… um… played with ourselves. Looking at each other. At each other’s eyes! Just… just kind of… looking at each other and… I may have given him my pajama pants so there wouldn’t be a mess and I maybe told him I was wearing Ladybug panties and that maybe is what made him f-finish and th-that’s what made me finish a-and…” She trailed off, withdrawing to the safety and comfort of the covers.

Alya was regarding her with pursed lips. Her head nodded in a satisfied rhythm.

“Mmmm. Damn. Nice. I have to say, Marinette, I think that’s actually pretty good technique. Moving fast, but not too fast. Give him a little taste of the Marinette Treatment, plenty to look forward to.”

“The Marinette Treatment? What? What’s that?”

“It’s what you’re gonna _do_ to our little sunflower to seal the _deal_ , girl. You didn’t kiss but you planted a real good flagpole. Real good. Hell, just look at the evidence,” she nodded to the bespunked pajamas. “No regular load can manage that kind of adhesion.”

“Alya! Gross again!”

“Your fault! Or should I say, your achievement? Seriously, this is not biologically common.” With the meter stick, she lifted the bundle of _noixx_ -laced pajamas, and pointed it vaguely at the discolored spot on the ceiling. “Point is, you gave him a taste. _Now_ you can let him get a little hungry for more. When he finds those panties…” She whistled softly, letting the pajamas flop to the bedspread. “Damn.”

Under the covers, Marinette’s cheeks began to glow cherry-red. She could swear she smelled burning blankets. Sizzling comforter. Roasting blue-black pigtails. But relief was on its way--a temporary respite, at least.

Alya considered good timing to be one of the most important skills anyone could possess. Accounting for Marinette’s predictable freakout when probed (heh heh) for details, and accounting for the fact they just said they were going to fetch, she figured their time was up.

“We can strategize later, girl. And you’re gonna need to get _way_ more used to sharing. The second you got Adrien in bed and rubbed one out was the second we evolved from a _planning_ friendship to a _details_ friendship.” She scooted forward on her rear, trapping Marinette under the covers. With her left hand, she pulled the sheet down to lock eyes with the much more timid girl. “I wanna know _everything._ But it’ll wait until we’ve got more time. Come on! Grab one of Ivan’s shirts. Share it with Adrien. Wink.”

 

* * *

 

“Seriously Ivan, I cannot believe how big your dick is.” It was on the tip of everyone’s tongue (Mylene’s more than others), but only Alix managed to voice it as a _sentiment_. She was still ensconced in one of Ivan’s spare shirts, although a timely bribe of coffee from Nino had earned her some company. Both Alix and Nino reclined on Ivan’s comfortable bulk, cocooned in one of his extra shirts. Ivan’s wardrobe had proved to be an extremely popular destination.

“I’m sure you’ll make it work someday!” said Rose, from the depths of another of Ivan’s shirts with Juleka. “I believe in you!”

“The worst part is how it sucks the blood out of the rest of my body when I get an erection,” Ivan confessed. “You can see my ribs.”

Everyone stifled a burst of laughter, with limited success. Marinette stumbled, startled, as she started down the stairs from her room. _That can’t possibly be true, can it?_

... _Damn now I kinda want to see…_

 _Boo you_ pouffiasse _! Be faithful to Adrien when you’re trying to seal the deal! The sex deal!_

_..._

_I MEAN THE KISSING DEAL! AAAAH!_

“We have to go to the blood bank to top him off, so he doesn’t get light-headed,” added Mylene. Her rejoinder triggered another eruption of guffaws from her friends; the force of Marinette’s explosion of laughter almost tripped her as she was halfway to the floor. Thankfully, Alya was rocketing backwards at the same time, snorting uncontrollably, and it arrested her fall with a redheadbutt to the thighs. Blunt trauma much less devastating than she was used to.

“I hate when I’m walking around and it falls out of the leg of my shorts and gets stuck in a storm drain,” said Ivan. “Reeling it back in is a huge chore.”

“It’s pretty convenient that you can orgasm, and by the time it comes out the tip, I can get out of the way.”

“Mylene! Aaa!” Rose shrieked and buried herself in the oversized shirt with Juleka. “Oh my!”

“I have to beat off with those extended robot grabby claws. Really hurts.”

“That’s why he likes me so much!” Mylene blinking up to him in genuine affection made the scandalously ribald jokes land that much harder.

Juleka was less scandalized than her girlfriend. “It must be pretty convenient to take a piss in one room while you’re eating breakfast in another.” She patted Rose’s head to comfort her. “Do you have one of those automatic-retracting things? Or is it like a manual spool?”

“Manual. If you tug it, it _definitely_ doesn’t retract, just ask Mylene.”

“Juleka, gross, why…” moaned Rose from the depths of the shirt.

“Come on, Rose! Even Juleka likes dick jokes!” said Alix, from her spot snuggled up to Nino. “Not even jokes, maybe. I saw that look you gave the lev-Ivan-than.”

Juleka blushed slightly, but held her head high. “I can appreciate the aesthetics of a nice cock as well as anyone. You don’t have to like dick to like to _look_ at dick.”

“That’s a pretty good philosophy,” said Nino. “Especially since Ivan’s dick is hard to avoid.”

“Especially hard when it’s hard,” contributed Alix.

“It’s practically everywhere at once,” agreed Mylene.

“Mylene basically admitted it last night,” said Adrien, jumping on the dick bandwagon. “Ivan’s dick is too big to be fully knowable.”

“It’s true. Even I can’t see the whole thing all at once,” said Ivan. He shook his head, sorrowfully. “I wonder where it’s going now…”

“Part of it’s under the couch, I think,” said Alya, joining Alix and Nino on their side of Ivan. “I almost tripped over it.” She made a show of knocking on the shirt, requesting entry. When she got no response, she decided to viciously poke where she presumed the doorbell would be, which moved around Nino and Alix’s most ribs. Shrieks ensued.

“Ivan's dick is all around us,” nodded a defeated Nino, welcoming Alya into the shirt-cave after having capitulated to her powerful pokes. “Inescapable.”

“Maybe the real Ivan’s dick is the friends we made along the way.” Adrien was still nursing his coffee, but had moved to the other arm of the couch. Marinette, moving to join him, tripped in response to his comment and barely caught herself with a windmill of arms. Only by a stroke of luck--or potentially Tikki’s timely intervention--was she able to keep Ivan’s shirt reasonably folded and somewhat in her hands.

“I-I know where Ivan’s dick is,” said Rose. Everyone peered at the small girl, her blonde head poking out by Juleka’s throat under Ivan’s shirt. “It’s…”

Everyone leaned closer.

“It’s…” she emerged more fully from the shirt-cave.

Everyone held their breath.

“...It’s in your heart.”

 

* * *

 

After everyone had recovered from Rose’s joke--no one had seen it coming--unlike Mylene, har har--the friends lapsed into a groggy, early-afternoon stupor, full of breakfast foods and the warm sense of accomplishment that accompanies a night and morning well-spent. For a brief time, everyone enjoyed the comfortable, quiet companionship of extremely close friends, the kind you share for mere transient hours after a perfect shared experience.

Plus, everyone had gotten off last night.

Marinette had just barely recovered from Adrien’s joke, from several exchanges back. She’d mustered the courage to cross the entire room, in front of the entire group, and sit her entire _culette_ down right next to the entirely too-tempting Morning Edition Adrien. Such exposure! Especially in tandem with the multiple levels of exposure from last night and earlier in the morning. When Adrien scooted microscopically closer to her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his shoulder roasting her skin under her clothes, she barely managed to fake the relaxed air that the room had as a whole. Adrien was right _there_ and she was sitting _next_ to him, and everyone could just _look over_ and see it, and she wasn’t wearing _anything_ except Adrien’s t-shirt and her pajama pants. Anything.

With that thought, her trembling embarrassment evolved into an eager, gleeful quivering, full of the anticipation for an unknown but perfect future. She was next to Adrien, and they were going to have a _date_ and they’d _gotten off_ looking at each other, and she was pretty close to _naked_ right there with him, wearing only his t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants. Unbidden, a low “heehur heh hurr hee hee hurrr hmmm heee hrrr” escaped her lips as she trembled in secret glee, an awkward susurrus of partially-enacted sexy blueprints.

The thrill of knowing that she was right _next_ to Adrien and had left her bra in the other room, and had left her panties as a strategic sexual _time-bomb_ for him to find later was a constant, indescribable jolt. She caught herself biting her lip and intercepted no fewer than a dozen winks from Alya.

She was still holding Ivan’s re-folded-up shirt in her lap. Its warm, death metal embrace could be encompassing her and Adrien in mere _moments_. He was relaxed. She was emotionally prepared. The moment was perfect. She turned her head, parting her lips, heart beating an aggressive tattoo in her throat. She was about to ask him.

However:

At varying levels of literalness, the last night had been a learning experience for everyone involved. The dramatic revelations of the soiree were still fresh in mind, though the biggest (of course) was Ivan’s trouser log. Who could forget Alix going commando? Or Alya’s fascination with Gordon Ramsey? Or--

“I still can’t believe you masturbate so much, Marinette,” said Mylene.

Marinette choked on the question she was steeling herself to ask. She felt her cheeks heat up immediately, heat sizzling across her face and crisping the tips of her pigtails. Somehow, someone other than Adrien or herself had managed to turn her face into a cherry-red incinerator. Well played, Mylene. _And I thought you were so sweet..._

“Quit thinking about Marinette masturbating all the time, Mylene.” Ivan nudged her with his shoulder, grinning. “I’ll get jealous.”

“I’m just thinking about her masturbating _once_ not masturbating all the time!”

“I mean you’re _thinking_ all the time, not thinking about her _masturbating_ all the time.”

“Well with Marinette it could be either, or both. We could all think about Marinette masturbating _once_ a day and we still wouldn’t cover an average Saturday.” Alix poked her head out of her hidey-hole and turned a gleeful smile on the topic of conversation herself, slipping her a wink.

Marinette’s perverted, private chuckle was gone, whisked away in the teasing wind of friends who had _startlingly sharp memories_ when they were drunk (how _dare_ you, Mme. Wine?). In its place, there was only a groan. She buried her face in her hands, and even Adrien’s gentle pat-pat-pat on her shoulder didn’t help. If anything, the fact that he had very recent, very intimate experience with the subject at hand made it worse.

...But at least he was touching her.

“Yeah, Marinette! Don’t you need to be catching up from last night? Don’t let us keep you!”

A snort, cut short by a panicked hand over the mouth, escaped Alya.

A _knowing_ snort.

Adrien was looking rapidly left and right, uncertain how to look as inconspicuous as he wanted to be. Marinette halfheartedly tried to whistle a tuneless song to distract attention.

It didn’t work.

They were nervous. Obvious. Marinette and Adrien and Alya had very good information on how little Marinette needed to _catch up_. They _knew_. And they could barely hide it.

 _Please no one notice. Please no one notice that they laughed at that idea that I_ didn’t _masturbate last night. Please no one notice please no one notice._

“I mean, how do you even manage that many? Don’t you get tired?” asked Juleka. “I always get tired after, like, two.”

“That’s still good! We can’t all be in the major leagues!” said Rose.

Adrien leapt at the mention of major leagues.

 _Baseball reference! Baseball. Think about baseball. Don’t think about Marinette touching hersel--DAMMIT_ , thought Adrien.

Next to him, Marinette was also thankful for a diversion. _Thank you for that extremely well-timed distraction, Juleka. Also for the information,_ thought Marinette. _Okay try to distract from how recently you got off_.

“W-well, it’s not like I always use my hands,” replied Marinette, timidly. She scrunched into herself, pulling her arms in close, hugging Ivan’s folded shirt like a precious protective talisman. “I mean, I do have a sewing machine.”

Foutre, _wait, why did I say that_. _I said distract from how recently you got off, self!_

 _Well technically this is now about_ how _you get off so…_

_THAT DOESN’T HELP AND YOU KNOW IT!_

“Wait… do you like, sew yourself a dildo?” Ivan’s face was a ludicrous mask of confusion.

“She means it vibrates, you dingus!” Alix bonked her head back into Ivan’s shoulder, to emphasize the clarification.

Meanwhile, Marinette stared daggers at the empty mimosa flute on the table. _How could you do this to me, alcohol? After all we shared last night? Why do you make me speak? Why are there_ so many details _?_

“Why does that--ohhhh,” said Ivan. “Ohhhhh.”

“‘Ohhh’ is right!” Even in the middle of squeezing into the shirt with Alix and Nino, Alya had time to crack wise at her extremely reddenable best friend. Her voice emerged from the depths of one of Ivan’s spare shirts, from approximately the _petiton_ area of a giggling Alix.

“ALYA! Aaaa!” Marinette hid her face under Ivan’s shirt. _Hiding. Hiding is the only option now._

Tap tap tap.

While the room rippled with laughter, Marinette was being ambushed by a series of touches from Adrien, directly to her right. They resounded inside her, echoing, sending her into a helpless quiver and quake, before the residual embarrassment from the conversation blunted its force.

“Hey, is that one of Ivan’s shirts?” he asked her. His voice was soft, and he had angled his shoulder to give her a bit of cover from the laughing room. A beautiful, glistening, six-pack-having, blonde sunshine beam of a shield. Wait--that was a question.

“Ah! Um… yes! Ish a tirt of Shivan’s-- _foutre_ \--it’s a body... cloth… for my body... that… no um… it’s… Ivan… shirt. Yes? Yes.” _I am not doing very well at this_.

“Do you… um…. D-do you maybe want to wear it together? L-like Rose and Juleka m-maybe?” Adrien had trapped his lush lower lip between his teeth. His eyes were tracking many different things in the room, none of them Marinette.

Words were once again an insurmountable obstacle, so Marinette decided to just nod. Nod _hard_. The connection between her thoughts and body, never particularly consistent around Adrien, truly _chié le lit_. She nodded her head at a completely unnecessary rate, and began the herculean task of unfolding Ivan’s shirt.

The task proved almost overwhelming for the both of them. Adrien and Marinette did their best to navigate the depths of Ivan’s extra clothing, with little luck. Completely inattentive to the rest of the world, they dragged the garment over their heads and swam in it until they found some sort of exit. Miles of black cotton met them, and they lost each other and any hope for escape almost immediately. Marinette surfaced, realized that she had entered the shirt through an armhole and was peeking her head out of the waist opening, and awkwardly extricated herself. Adrien managed to get his head through an armhole that Marinette’s leg was somehow traversing, and became helplessly trapped. A constant chorus of “sorry”s and “oh no”s and “oops”es served as their soundtrack.

Only the sighing, eye-rolling intervention of Mylene (an old hand at navigating Ivan’s wardrobe, ooh la la) freed them. She helped them both right themselves, sit their asses on the correct parts of the furniture, and put their heads through the right hole. Marinette shuddered to think what would have happened had Mylene not been there. _We’d be trapped like sea creatures in ocean debris. Trapped forever, not even able to intentionally grope each other._ She wiped away a single, mental tear in pity. _What horror._

It was warm under the shirt. Warm and _close_. Marinette was slight of build by any measure, and Adrien was as thin as a model was required to be, but there’s only so much space inside a single t-shirt. The Alix/Nino/Alya triad managed to stretch out the boundaries of the shirt, but only just, and they weren’t even _pretending_ to use the neckhole for its intended function. Marinette found herself shoulder to shoulder, ear to ear with Adrien, poking out of the collar. The whole length of her leg was pressed against Adrien’s, and she had no idea at all what to do with her hands. They danced on top of her thighs, busy doing something she wasn’t clear on, and which they hadn’t asked her about even a little.

Not as if her mental state was at all conducive to providing cogent instructions, of course. She was only wearing two thin articles of clothing, and she was _touching_ so much of Adrien, and they were in the same _shirt tent_ , and he was _right there_. Her soft, thirsty chuckle returned, unbidden. Hurr hee hmmm heehur heh hurrr hmmm heee hrrr.

The conversation had _entirely_ escaped them both as they were navigating their shirt-haven. Far, far more important things were happening, in between trying (pretending to try) not to grope each other on accident and actually navigating Ivan’s shirt. Marinette was preparing to pull a tiny sliver of her consciousness away from the sublime pleasure of being next to Adrien and redirect it to the rest of her guests when:

_Is… is that Adrien’s hand on mine!?!?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter, I drew from a lengthy (heh) history of absurd dick jokes. I hope they mean as much to you as they do to me, or at least that you squirm in shock and disgust.
> 
> I appreciate everyone's comments so much! Thank you for reading! I promise to punish you with more dick jokes, etc, in the future.


	14. In Which Hand Holding Is Disastrous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien is holding Marinette's hand, cuddling up on the couch, and neither of them have thoroughly thought through the mechanics of sharing a single large shirt. Several mistakes are made, in terms of physical space, and the generally accepted laws of physics are mostly ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay just bear with me, cartoon physics are the rule of the day here.

****_ The conversation had  _ **_entirely_ ** _ escaped them both as they were navigating their shirt-haven. Far, far more important things were happening, in between trying (pretending to try) not to grope each other on accident and actually navigating Ivan’s shirt. Marinette was preparing to pull a tiny sliver of her consciousness away from the sublime pleasure of being next to Adrien and redirect it to the rest of her guests when: _

**_Is… is that Adrien’s hand on mine!?!?_ **

 

* * *

 

Marinette had run a real circuit of possible reactions since Alya had planned the party out from under her the previous day. She’d alternately blazed in embarrassment, melted in shame, quivered in desire, and performed various other actions in various emotional states, all with limited to no conscious thought. 

Adrien holding her hand stretched even her considerable repertoire of facial expressions. An outside observer might not have noticed anything but for a widening of the eyes and a certain looseness of the muscles, but that didn’t quite capture her reaction. Adrien nervously looked elsewhere around the room, inconspicuous, pretending nothing was amiss and that he wasn’t thoroughly shaking the foundations of Marinette’s reality. Attached at the hand, Marinette was as slack-jawed as she was smiling widely, eyes as glazed over as they were glittering, as dilated as they were dewy. The symptoms of shock, it seemed, could peacefully coexist with the symptoms of a  _ coup de foudre _ . 

Alya, of course, tried to hide her own smile from the rest of the room.

The party continued without them, mostly. Banter and comfortable laziness were the orders of the day, and Alya had managed to sate even the most pernicious of teenage appetites. To considerable acclaim, Alix had been the only person who even got close to Ivan’s gastronomical capacity. In the true tradition of stuffed (with food) friends, conversation lingered on topics of food, and how good it was, and how great Alya was at making it, and how great a chef Maman Cesaire must be to teach her daughter so well.

The conversation inside Marinette, however, was considerably more lively.

Adrien’s hand was on her hand and his fingers were moving in between her fingers and he squeezed his fingers together around hers and her hand was shaking and it was sweaty and everything was perfect and Marinette could just about almost barely handle it without exploding.

“I just want to say, Marinette and Adrien, you two were super cute awkwardly getting in that shirt together.”

“Aaaa! What? Nothing!” As soon as Rose had said their names, Marinette had shrieked lightly, and she and Adrien had reflexively and self-consciously retrieved their respective hands from each other. Both had forgotten that their peers had no ability to see through the protective layer of Ivan’s shirt. Their secret hand-holding--scandalous--remained unremarked upon.

The room cackled. “It’s just sweet! All climbing over each other. I think that’s really great.” Tiny glimmering stars sparkled in Rose’s eyes. “You two go well together, and I’m glad you spent the night with each other!”

“Rose… shhhh… be gentle…” hushed Juleka. “They are tender and fragile.”

“But they’re just so sweet!”

“Yes, we all know, Rose, they really are.”

“AH HA HA WHAT NOTHING,” said Marinette, inconspicuously. 

“HA HA YES NOT A THING DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN,” added Adrien.

Nino extricated his head from the lightly wriggling shirt-pile of teenagers, poking his head through an arm hole. 

“Come on, you two,” he said. “We all sort of noticed where you ended up last night. And you’re kind of in a shirt, like the rest of us.”

Adrien looked around. Everyone in the room was in one of Ivan’s shirts--nine classmates, five garments. They had paired off along the same lines established at the party last night: couples together, Rose with Juleka, Alix joining Alya and Nino, with Marinette and Adrien the last to link up. Ivan and Mylene, of course, were a given.

“It was pretty romantic evening, after all.” Mylene had her own shirt of Ivan’s, but was cuddled close enough she might have been trying to friction weld her shirt with his. “I certainly found it very… stimulating.”

At the same moment, Adrien and Marinette turned to face each other, turning to gauge the other’s interpretation of that statement. Of stimulation. Of the question of  _ romance _ .

Both had forgotten that they were sharing the neck-hole of a single shirt.

Marinette blinked blue eyes mere millimeters away from Adrien’s green ones. Nose-to-nose, they were pressed against each other, sharing the same breath, close enough to feel the heat of--

“Kiiiiiiiiiiiissssssssssss,” whispered Alya.

Adrien juked his head to the left, which was Marinette’s right, just as Marinette tried to angle her head to the right, which was Adrien’s left. Twisting, squirming to stop being so overwhelmingly and suddenly  _ close _ . Fencing with noses and faces and eyes and lips. Trying not to accidentally snog, unsure how to disengage. The shirt, so comfortable and warm moments, was instantly too constricting, too much a sauna, as the two teenagers tried to find a way, any way, to extract themselves from being a little bit too close with too little warning.

“Alya, come on, you’re embarrassing them,” said Ivan. Alya had not stopped her low susurrus of “kiiiisssss.”

“Shhh, I’m being subliminal.”

“Whoa. Look at them go.” Juleka, as everyone knew, was keenly attracted to scenes of horror. And if nothing else, a companionable cuddle and hand-holding turning into an awkward flail-fest was at least a  _ little _ horrible to the onlookers. The degree to which Marinette and Adrien could completely forget how to move their heads sensibly was very nearly awe-inspiring. 

But it was  _ nothing _ compared to the horror Marinette felt. 

Adrien’s face was  _ right there _ and his perfect lips were  _ so close  _ and I could have kissed him  _ right then _ but it would have been  _ in front of everyone _ and that would have been  _ the worst _ but also  _ the best _ and also that kiss had to be hers.  _ Hers _ . 

_ I need a distraction _ .

“IS THAT LADYBUG?” shouted Marinette, too loud, in the direction of her front door. She ducked her head at the same moment.

“WHERE?” shouted Adrien, calmly, whipping his head around fast enough that Marinette felt his hair slap her bangs back up on top of her head.

“WHERE?” shouted Alya, not even pretending to be calm. She was instantly leaping out the neck of the shirt-cloak all the way down to her hips, clamboring over Ivan in her haste, levering herself off of Nino’s thighs with pointy Alya-knees. Alix gave a muffled grunt of protest from somewhere in the depths, but was otherwise completely lost to perception.

Faintly, two tiny tinkling laughs could be heard from a hidden corner of the room, devoid of teenager. No one seemed to notice.

The six other people in the room, who had no illusions at all that Ladybug had inexplicably appeared in an empty corner of the room, raised a collective eyebrow.

Marinette’s ruse had worked, however. Adrien’s distraction had been exactly the moment she needed to break their surprisingly coordinated face-feinting. Now she was pigtails-deep in the shirt, pressed against Adrien’s shoulder, bangs flopping over the collar. Safe. Hidden. 

“Sorry! Sorry! I had to!”

Alya had paused, halfway scrambled out of her shirt-haven, perched awkwardly on top of parts of Ivan. In her haste to get to Ladybug, her hips had risen to Nino’s face, and her right  _ teton  _ had slapped itself delicately upon Ivan’s nose.

“Uh,” said Mylene.

“No no, this is fine,” said Nino, from approximately between Alya’s thighs.

“Yes, it’s fine,” said Ivan, under a tit.

Alya, however, was not amused. 

With a menacing slowness, she turned a pair of golden lasers onto Marinette. “You.  _ Monster _ .”

“Adrien, protect me!” Even asking the question sent a quiet thrill through Marinette.  _ Yesss… be my defender, you precious chevalier _ . 

Adrien might have been homeschooled, but his home was also pretty much a castle, and if you live in a castle you generally have pretty specific ideas about chivalry. He flailed around inside the shirt until his hand found the armhole. Dwarfed by the size of the sleeve, his hands formed a protective barrier held upright against Alya’s wrath. Even draped over a full third of the party’s population, tits in Ivan’s face, she managed to be an intimidating sight.

“Alya! Hold on! I’m sure she had a good reason!”

“Do not  _ dare _ to Ladybug-tease me, you beast!”

“I had to hide I’m sorry Alya!”

“You can’t kill her! Or me! We’ve got a date!”

An audible gasp rippled its way through the living room. This was  _ news _ . Finding out about Marinette’s crush on Adrien didn’t exactly require security clearance, and everyone had seen Adrien just about go for it during the the shooting for Horrificator. Adrien and Marinette going on a date was the worst-hidden inevitability of both Collége and Lycée Francois-Dupont. But even the  _ inevitable _ has to actually  _ happen _ at some point.

“Eeeeee! Marinette! I’m so happy for you!” said Rose. “I knew it!  _ Bien joue _ !” She was the first to react, but the rest soon joined her. The room erupted in a tumult of squeals and grins and congratulations. Even Alya, so vengeful moments before, joined in. Given the circumstances, how  _ could _ she beat Marinette about the face and neck? She couldn’t do that to her best friend. Bug-teaser or not.

The chat was completely out of the bag. A private agreement and a public declaration are two completely different things. Marinette had been thrilled before, knowing that Adrien was going to get coffee with her; now that he had announced it to the world (the nine-member world of the party, at least, not counting Tikki), she was  _ wracked _ . Trembling with a combination of indescribable glee and anticipation and exposure and publicity, she needed support. And her best friend was still probably at least a  _ little _ furious about the Ladybug fakeout. Marinette snaked her hand out, groping blindly for Adrien’s hand in the darkness under the blanket. She found it in his lap, and squeezed it, belatedly realizing that Adrien was in fact using  _ both  _ of his hands to ward off Alya. 

“Hurk,” said Adrien.

 

* * *

 

Adrien stiffened, and then stiffened. Halfway between appeasing Alya and warding off an immense blush from the fanfare surrounding his date announcement, he had felt a slim hand trace its way across his thigh and wrap around his own personal  _ saucisse Agreste _ . Despite last night’s amorous activities, he went from dough to baguette in an instant. Internally, he was worried that he’d given Marinette’s hand some form of whiplash.

Of course his luck didn’t end there.

Entirely against his will, his whole body spasmed, twitching fishlike. Purely from shock, he told himself later.  _ What a surprise! Ha ha! Yep! Only reacted like that because of surprise _ . 

His back arched and his arms flailed, still thankfully trapped in the oversized sleeve of Ivan’s shirt. Both of his legs tried to go in different directions, neither of which was remotely feasible given the constraints of human bone anatomy. A lightning bolt traced itself up his spine and electrocuted every nerve ending, in an unexpected and entirely non-platonic reminder of Marinette’s body shot from last night. 

Except he didn’t have any time to prepare.

Except Marinette wasn’t touching his  _ abs _ , this time.

He was on Marinette’s right side, next to Mylene and Ivan, and then suddenly he wasn’t.

Time slowed down to let him think. 

_ Perhaps _ , he thought to himself,  _ perhaps it’s because I spend so much time running and jumping around Paris. _

_ Perhaps It’s the flexibility I developed from years of fencing. _

_ Hey, perhaps it’s even all the climbing on my rock wall. _

_ Perhaps one of those things is the reason I find myself tumbling through space right now. _

Connected by a sturdy cotton t-shirt, Adrien found himself orbiting high above Marinette, his involuntary springing spasm elevating him far, far off of the Dupain-Cheng family couch. Below him, at the zenith of his arc, he saw a pair of bright blue eyes peeking up at him in surprise from the void of a stretched-out collar. To his heightened perception at that moment, his classmates were all frozen in mute poses of shock and surprise, moving molasses-slow to come to his aid.

_ But I’m fine! I’m just floating gently through space, rotating above Marinette for some reason! Nothing to worry about! Gosh! _

He got a very lovely view of of the Dupain-Cheng residence from a number of new and interesting angles, on his slow descent from the parabola.  _ I wonder if Marinette helps them design the interior? It’s really very well put together. _

_ Oh--it looks like Marinette might be gently floating, too. I wonder why she looks so worried? _

Two jarring impacts woke Adrien from his airborne reverie: his own back slamming onto the floor, and Marinette slamming onto him. The thought struck him that he might have experienced a wee tiny bit of time dilation. 

And, impressively, Marinette had maintained her grip the whole way down.

 

* * *

 

Marinette found herself on the floor, straddling Adrien, having moments ago been sitting peacefully (if under a potential assault from Alya) on the couch. 

_ How did--What? _

She blinked, face pressed into Adrien’s chest.  _ How did I even--He was on the other side of me! Farther from the floor! _ She shook her head, pigtails slapping against the fabric of Ivan’s shirt that still shrouded most of the back of her head.  _ I was just hiding from Alya and trying to hold Adrien’s hand and then-- _

_ Oh. _

She looked down in the dim light under the shirt, trailing the pale skin of her arm with her eyes. In her grip--vicelike and powerful from her five-times-daily wrist workout--was Adrien’s  _ definitely _ not-a-hand. And he was apparently  _ very _ glad that she was holding it.

Panic, so often Marinette’s companion in the last twenty-four hours, decided that her reaction shouldn’t be to release Adrien’s baguette. Oh no--the correct response was obviously to freeze and become incapable of movement.

Over the course of a few short milliseconds, Marinette’s unintentioned groping had launched Adrien into the air with a powerful, surprised spasm. He had flown over her, dragged into an arc by the tshirt they wore and her persistent grip. His flight had pulled her down on top of him, crashing her noggin into his chest in a Real Madrid-worthy headbutt. Her hand was still wrapped around him--the part of him she was  _ most _ interested in being wrapped around. And her hips had landed (crashed) slightly above his own.

Marinette had discovered first hand that Chat Noir wasn’t the only Parisian teenager with an extendable baton. 

And speaking of cats, said extendable baton was grinding against a  _ very _ different  _ chatte _ . 

The realization sent little shivers through her whole body, back and forth along her spine and lower, reducing her to a quivering liquid mess. Probably more literally than was wise. In the span of two heartbeats--very rapid heartbeats--Marinette had gone from confused and disoriented to suppressing a desperate need to orient herself just a little bit to the  _ left _ on her new favorite handhold. Panic, at least, had frozen her, keeping her from subconsciously twisting her hips or or her wrist and grinding Adrien’s  _ petit Ivan _ even more directly into her.

Not yet, anyway. 

Beneath her fingers, Adrien twitched. The rest of his body remained perfectly, deliberately still. His arms were still trapped helplessly in the right sleeve of Ivan’s t-shirt, leaving him less than adept at disentangling anything. His eyes, she noticed, were locked onto her own--wait, no they weren’t, they were locked onto something lower.

Marinette looked down her body, noting several things in rapid succession. She was still wearing Adrien’s shirt, which hung rather loose on her body. Under it, as she had been pervertedly giggling about, she wasn’t wearing anything else--her bra was back upstairs. Adrien’s eyes, therefore, were probably getting at least 70% of a view of the  _ tetons  _ in question.  _ Good to know I can draw his eye so well, at least… _

But the new sensory information flooding her synapses wasn’t done quite yet. As she came more into her own reality, the position of her hips, and the rod they were straddling, became a bit more apparent. She couldn’t quite adjust herself to cover her feminine accoutrements, because Ivan’s shirt was trapping her, and scooting back any would grind her  _ directly  _ across Adrien’s love-baguette. 

And she had left her Ladybug panties in Adrien’s bag, upstairs.

She was, at that very moment, only a tiny movement away from covering at  _ least _ one more pair of pajama pants in Adrien’s noixx, all in less than a day.

Below her, Adrien had trapped his lower lip between his bottom teeth. His eyes were wide and green and at least slightly shell-shocked. 

Together, Marinette and Adrien drew in a ragged breath and started apologizing.

 

* * *

 

A powerful stream of rapid-fire apologies lanced back and forth between Marinette and Adrien in the brief instants before anyone else could react.

“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Rose was the first to ask, but she was quickly overwhelmed by a room full of concerned classmates. Mylene--the only one not sharing one of Ivan’s t-shirts or pinned under several other classmates--moved in to help the frozen, still-apologizing mess on the floor. Everyone else awkwardly made to extricate themselves from their cotton cocoons (or in Alya’s case, from Ivan’s face), to be of help to the  _ dramatically _ spilled pair.

“NOPE, DON’T WORRY, WE’RE FINE,” said Adrien, too loudly.

“YESSIR WE CAN SORT THIS OUT, WE SURE CAN,” added Marinette, also too loudly.

“BETTER JUST LET US WORK THIS ONE OUT ON OUR OWN, BUDDY OLD PAL.”

“AH HAHA HA HA YES GOOD IDEA.”

“You sure you don’t need any help? You took a  _ real _ spill there.”

“Yep we fell pretty hard!” Marinette twitched at the word “hard”. 

“Ouch, you look like you took a pounding.” Marinette shuddered at the idea of  _ pounding _ . From her perspective, her hand was wrapped around an organ which would be  _ very _ helpful in terms of pounding.

“Whoa he really plowed into you,” said Rose.  _ That’s the idea, Rose, but probably later. _

“I’m not surprised he managed to swing Marinette around like that, when he went wonky,” said Ivan. “She’s got to be maybe 45 kilos soaking wet.”

“And I am!” shouted Marinette.

“What?”

“What?”.

“Come on dude, aren’t you gonna get up?” asked Nino.

“Way ahead of you,” groaned Adrien back.

“What?”

“What?”

Marinette was still poised above Adrien, straddling him exactly at hip level. Between her legs, her hand was gripping the proprietary joystick for the most recent edition of Adrien: The Newly Imported Erogame from Japan (same people who made the talking bags). Her grip was strong enough she could feel his pulse through his… well it wasn’t exactly his wrist, but the girth was pretty close to-- _ Focus _ .

“H-how about you all go back to cuddling and we’ll sort this out, okay?” said Marinette. “We can probably manage it.”

“Yeah you wouldn’t want to rack Adrien right in the nards or anything,” said Ivan. “You got that date and everything.”

_ Excellent distraction, Ivan! Good thinking! Okay baseball baseball baseball _ , thought Adrien.

“YEP WE HAD BETTER AVOID THAT BY BEING VERY CAREFUL AND SLOW,” said Adrien. “NO NEED TO OBSERVE US IT’S FINE.”

 

* * *

 

**** As the other partygoers laughed at the floorbound couple, Marinette lowered her voice to a whisper. “First of all, I am so sorry, second of all I’m going to try to move as slowly as possible okay?”

Beneath her, one specific part of Adrien twitched. Her voice, which she had tried to pitch low for privacy, had apparently brought bedroom verbs to mind.  _ Whoops… but good to know _ . 

He was nodding, eyes wide. His lip was clamped between his teeth, and Marinette thought she heard a muffled “baseball, baseball, baseball” coming out of his mouth. She would have to be very, very careful. Beneath her, the slightest shift in her weight could slide a  _ very _ sensitive area over  _ Adrien’s _ very sensitive area. And her kung-fu grip wasn’t a cakewalk to remove, either. Withdraw too slow and she would be effectively stroking Adrien off, which was fine, but not  _ now _ . Too fast, and the sudden shock might kill the boy. 

And now that the shock of their impromptu dry- _ foutre _ had worn off, a whole host of new, intricate sensations was introducing itself to their startled nerve endings. This could be bad.

Well… bad as in poorly planned, at least.

_ Why can’t I just have Ladybug’s superpowers all the time!? M’aidez, Tikki! There’s so much mayday on it’s a  _ foutu  _ Haymarket Affair! _

But of course, Tikki couldn’t exactly reveal herself in front of so many civilians, even if they were blessedly returning to their own conversations on the couch. This predicament was Marinette’s  _ noix  _ to  _ craque _ . Speaking of  _ noixx _ , how the  _ foutre _ was she supposed to free Adrien without covering  _ another _ pair of pajamas in boy-roux?  _ Think, Marinette. _

...Okay.

Okay, this could work. 

With her left hand--the less occupied one--she braced herself against the wall, trying to eke out some small amount of leverage. Very gently, holding herself up with her left hand, she pushed  _ up  _ and  _ forward _ with her legs, trying to avoid rubbing Adrien’s bulge as much as possible. Going down wasn’t an option ( _ Yet _ , she thought, followed by:  _ FOCUS _ ), because that would just put her crotch or belly or something worse ( _ better,  _ she thought) right onto Adrien’s apparently hair-trigger pocket pistol. 

So, she extended her legs, pulling herself up and forward, releasing her grip on Adrien’s length as she did so. Letting him go from squeezed to un-squeezed, and not upgrading to  _ grinded against _ ; that was the first priority. Once she was safely dismounted ( _ Noooooo…, _ she thought to herself), she could roll to the side and they could try to recover a tiny bit before getting back on the couch. Perfect plan. No issues there.

Her knowledge of geometry and spatial reasoning, however, had apparently been knocked out of her by the fall. 

In extending herself off of Adrien, she had moved herself considerably  _ forward _ , but couldn’t really move herself  _ up,  _ because she and Adrien were still sharing Ivan’s shirt. There was only so much space available.

So, after extricating herself from her first (albeit unintentional) encounter with frottage, she found herself with Adrien’s face at just about tit-height. His nose had pulled down the collar of the shirt she was wearing--his shirt. 

His shirt, which was  _ loose _ on her.

And, as she had to keep reminding herself, she had taken off her bra upstairs.

 

* * *

 

Adrien didn’t know if he was in heaven or hell. It had to be heaven; accidentally noixxing your pants onto a girl in front of half of your whole class wouldn’t be  _ that _ bad. At least you get off, right?

Should still probably avoid it, however.

He thought back over the past few milliseconds, thought processes coming back to him. One moment, he had been pleading with Alya not to murder Marinette for Ladybaiting her. The next, he had felt Marinette wrap her powerful little hand around his cock and  _ squeeze _ .

And god _ damn _ was he not prepared for that.

On the one hand, Marinette had a hell of a grip. So that was nice. 

On the other hand, Marinette had a  _ hell _ of a  _ grip _ . So that hurt a little, but in an okay way.  _ Huh. Gotta process that _ . 

On the third hand, his reactions had been honed by months upon months of superheroing around Paris. So, these days, when he reacted, he reacted  _ hard _ . 

And under Ivan’s shirt, cuddling with a very nervous young hostess, he reacted  _ as hard as possible _ . 

There was no helping it, he told himself. When one is suddenly and inexplicably struck by a lightning bolt in the dick, there’s really no helping what your body does. It’s perfectly natural, as a reaction, he told himself. Perfectly natural to… stiffen, and perfectly natural to spasm uncontrollably into the air.  _ And honestly _ , he told himself,  _ of all the paroxysms I could have had at that moment, flinging myself into the sky is just about the  _ least _ embarrassing one _ .

The only problem, he realized, was that in flinging himself through the air, purely on reflex, he had inadvertently caused Marinette’s little lightning rod of a-- _ wait, that wasn’t right _ .  _ The lightning rod in question is very much attached to me. Start over. _

The only problem, he realized, was that in flinging himself through the air, purely on reflex, he had inadvertently caused Marinette’s little superconductor of a hand ( _ There we go _ ) to slide along his shaft, mid-tumble. Adrien had the very clear realization that neither he nor Marinette had expected their first handjobs to be quite so  _ airborne _ . Girl had a grip on her.

Complicating everything, of course, was Ivan’s shirt. Being connected with Marinette by the shirt had made his startled spasm curve to the left, and off of the couch, rather than straight up. If he’d bounced straight up, he wouldn’t have tumbled Marinette into a pile on the floor. Hell, maybe he’d even be able to play it off as… hiccups or something. But no. The shirt bound him, and Marinette held one side of it down as he blasted off into space, rocketed into the air by a squeeze of the junk. He’d been helpless to stop himself, arms still pinned in one of the arm-holes, Marinette’s head turtled into the collar, bonking him in the chest as he orbited her. 

And then the  _ landing _ . He’d come down hard, and hard (heh heh), and Marinette had sprawled on top of him. She didn’t weigh much, but a startling large proportion of her weight settled exactly on what she was holding. And when one’s manhood is suddenly and violently straddled by a pretty young designer with a death grip on your bell-end, maintaining composure is the farthest thing from easy.

So, Adrien was modeling. He was modeling  _ hard _ . He was  _ modeling _ hard, too. 

A decade of child, tween, and teen modeling  _ expertise  _ went into keeping his face the tiniest bit composed. He wasn’t in pain, exactly--adrenaline and endorphins had almost entirely replaced his blood. He remembered something: the Latin root of the word “passion” means “to suffer.” So that’s probably what he was feeling. Too much  _ passion _ .

Or perhaps not enough.

Marinette wasn’t so much  _ grinding _ on him--inadvertently or not--as she was  _ pulverizing  _ him. He returned again to the question: is this heaven or hell?

Feeling Marinette through the thin material of their pajama bottoms, the temperature certainly felt hot enough. But the crackling rush of energy curling itself down from the base of his skull along the ridge of his spine cutting through his pelvis and arching up to where he felt Marinette’s warmth pressed against him was  _ anything _ but infernal. He drew in a shaky breath and felt white-hot plasma gather at the base of his shaft, so he decided to maybe stop breathing for a while.

And even with the feeling of Marinette’s Very Intimate Region pressing down on him, even with her hand wrapped around the throbbing end of his Extremely Private Area, he knew for a mother- _foutu_ _fact_ that Marinette was ninety times more embarrassed than he was.

Biting his lip to distract from the live wire of nearly-pain-definitely-pleasure jolting into him dickwise, he did the only thing he could think of, and began apologizing.

 

* * *

 

**** “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Rose was speaking, drowned out moments later by the rest of the classmates. From over Marinette’s shoulder, he saw a colorful dandelion of hair--Mylene--hurrying over to help, somehow. She was the only one free--everyone else had an Ivan-shirt-buddy or two, or was pinned under other partiers.

_ Uh oh. Can’t move. Can’t let her do anything. _

“NOPE, DON’T WORRY, WE’RE FINE,” said Adrien, at a perfectly reasonable volume.

“YESSIR WE CAN SORT THIS OUT, WE SURE CAN,” said Marinette, voice a little bit husky. From surprise, probably. The pattern of vibrations from her breathing and speaking quivered down her body to where it touched Adrien’s. He jabbed a thumbnail into the palm of his hand to distract him from the need to just thrust forward a tiiiiiny little bit, or just pull back a tiiiiiiny little bit to feel more of that precious, shimmering rush of heat and blood and sensation.  

“BETTER JUST LET US WORK THIS ONE OUT ON OUR OWN, BUDDY OLD PAL,” he said, thinking very intensely about unpleasant things.

“AH HAHA HA HA YES GOOD IDEA.”

_ Dammit _ , thought Adrien. _ I can feel her nodding all the way down to my  _ couilles _.  _ One particular part of him trembled like a dowsing rod, looking for a very  _ specific _ type of wetness.

“You sure you don’t need any help? You took a  _ real _ spill there.” Juleka sounded pretty concerned--or maybe he was just focusing on anything besides his immediate physical surroundings. For worthwhile purposes. For politeness.  _ To not spackle another pair of Marinette’s pants, ya dingus _ . 

“Yep we fell pretty hard!” Marinette laughed nervously. Adrien felt his heart stop, briefly, when Marinette twitched as she said the word “hard.” It picked up the pace almost instantly after, pulse coming in stuttering slams directly from where he was pressed against Marinette. She bit her lip. Apparently, she was as clued in to his pulse as he was.

“Ouch, you look like you took a pounding.” Nino gave a soft whistle. Adrien couldn’t stop himself from instinctively tilting his hips forward at the word “pounding.” Marinette’s subsequent shudder very nearly finished him off. 

“Whoa he really plowed into you,” said Rose.  _ Oh my god how many possible innuendos can there be about this situation!? _

“I’m not surprised he managed to swing Marinette around like that, when he went wonky,” said Ivan, suppressing a cackle. “She’s got to be maybe 45 kilos soaking wet.”

“And I am!” shouted Marinette.

“What?” asked everyone.

“What?” she replied.

Adrien had almost bitten his tongue in half trying to keep from turning his own intimates into ground zero for a marzipan explosion--marzipan being a confection  _ notably _ composed of  _ noix _ . Although his synapses were all firing at once, too rapidly to process, he did have a faint, damp inkling that Marinette had not been kidding at  _ all _ . 

“Come on dude, aren’t you gonna get up?” asked Nino.

“Way ahead of you,” groaned Adrien back.  _ Why!? Why do you pun now?! _

“What?” 

“What?”  _ HA HA PAY NO ATTENTION DEFINITELY DIDN’T MEAN MY NETHERS NOPE NOTHING’S UP DOWN THERE! _

Adrien’s shaft was still nestled precisely between Marinette’s legs and also precisely between…  _ Okay skip the details. _ Her hand was still on his-- _ Dammit skip the details! _

Marinette was still on top of him. 

“H-how about you all go back to cuddling and we’ll sort this out, okay?” said Marinette. “We can probably manage it.”

_ Oh my god thank you Marinette thank you thank you I will let you borrow my Ladybug hoodie I will do anything _ . 

“Yeah you wouldn’t want to rack Adrien right in the nards or anything,” said Ivan. “You got that date and everything.”

“YEP WE HAD BETTER AVOID THAT BY BEING VERY CAREFUL AND SLOW,” said Adrien. “NO NEED TO OBSERVE US IT’S FINE.”  _ Cool as a cucumber. No one the wiser. _

As everyone else went back to their various cuddling tasks, Marinette spoke to him in a low voice. “First of all, I am so sorry, second of all I’m going to try to move as slowly as possible okay?”

... _ Oh my god now is not the time to think about how sexy her whisper sounds baseball baseball baseball. _

Adrien nodded, trapping his lip between his teeth again as Marinette surveyed their situation and he tried to avoid surveying  _ her _ too much.  _ Baseball, baseball, baseball. _

She started moving, very slowly, very deliberately, bracing herself against the wall and lifting her weight off of his dude-lever. He felt the pressure of her grip slowly abate as she released him, holding the length of his  _ BASEBALL  _  away from her  _ BASEBALL BASEBALL  _ so that she wouldn't  _ BASEBALL  _ against it before releasing him entirely. He let out the better part of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, when he realized that he had been exhaling directly into Marinette.

_ Very _ directly.

Trapped by Ivan’s shirt, she couldn’t get too much elevation, so when she drew herself up along his body, the collar of the shirt she was wearing hooked on Adrien’s chin. By the time he was fully released from her grip and her pelvis, he had time enough to notice something very, very important.

 

* * *

 

“Um,” said Adrien, beneath her.

Marinette looked down, seeing only the top of Adrien’s shaggy head. “What is it? Is… is this okay? I’m not… uh… ‘hurting’ you, am I?”

_ (Editor’s note: We’ve secretly replaced the meaning of the word “hurting” with the phrase “grinding against you.) _

“N-no…. Uh… you’re… um… not wearing your br-bra.”

Somehow, even after crashing into Adrien’s baguette pelvis-first, Marinette’s face found enough room to add a little more blush.  _ Oh no _ .  _ Oh  _ no _. His face is right at my--oh no _ .

“N-nope,” she said, weakly.

“Y-y-yaaaaay…” he whispered.

Marinette gave out a little gasp, and had a very good idea.

She slipped her head fully out of the collar of Ivan’s shirt, peering behind herself to check on her friends. They were mostly distracted--Mylene was making out with Ivan, Rose and Juleka was snuggling, and the Alya/Nino/Alix trifecta were nestled snugly out of sight in Ivan’s shirt. She felt her breathing pick up in pace. Drawing back very slightly, she looked down at Adrien, locking his green eyes with hers. 

Swinging her shoulders, she bopped him in the face with her left tit, and rolled off to the side.

 

* * *

 

For a while, they both sort of lay there, not quite sure what to do, not quite sure how to react. In the life of many new relationship, there comes a time when the partners therein have to wrestle with some major firsts. First squeeze of the naughty bits. First slap in the face with a breast. Basic relationship firsts. Normally, firsts don’t come quite as back-to-back as Marinette and Adrien had experienced them. 

“I’m really sorry I flipped out and dragged you to the floor accidentally,” said Adrien in a whisper, breaking the silence between them. “Are you okay? We, uh… kinda got distracted.”

“I’m fine! So okay! And I’m the one who’s sorry! I was… trying to hold your hand again. It… it was really nice.” Marinette scooted her face slightly into the collar of the shirt, hiding a tiny bit. It was harder, now that they were both sharing the neck-hole again. “I… I missed. Didn’t realize your hands weren’t… there…”

“No no don’t be sorry! I’m the one who should be sorry! I… uh… couldn’t control my… reaction.”  Adrien’s voice was soft, with the whispered intensity of someone admitting something  _ hugely _ embarrassing. “I’m so sorry I made you feel my… uh… on your… um…”

“No! I’m the one who’s sorry! It’s my terrible luck, I swear!”

Back and forth, back and forth, Marinette and Adrien apologized, their pledge to stop embarrassing each other completely forgotten. At a certain point in any match of apology one-upsmanship, however, both parties lose steam.

“Um,” said Marinette. “Can we just… maybe… pretend that didn’t happen maybe? Like, up to the hand holding happened but after that we just pretend…”

“Definitely. Definitely. That is a really good idea, Marinette! I’m going to forget it right now,” lied Adrien. The feel of a very localized  _ warmth _ coming from her was not going to leave him any time soon.

“Great! I’m forgetting it too,” said Marinette, also speaking falsehoods. Under no circumstances would she be capable of forgetting how Adrien’s lightning rod had turned her pajama bottoms into an adolescent bain-marie. 

But if there was anything two teenage superheroes knew the necessity of, it was keeping up appearances. Pretending they  _ hadn’t _ just bumped flannel was as simple as hiding another secret identity. 

Which is to say, they were bad at it, but somehow no one noticed.

“Okay,” started Adrien. “New leaf has been turned. Do you have any idea how to get back onto the couch?”

“I guess… we could use teamwork?”

“I think we’re going to have to.” 

A short planning session later, and they put action to words.

Together, they curled their legs under themselves, wrapping one arm each around each other for stability, pushing off the floor with the other. Tottering slightly, still attached at the hip, Adrien managed to catch them on the rim of the couch before they flopped onto the floor again, face-first this time. With baby steps, they oriented themselves asswards to the couch and settled down, giggling at their prowess and the closeness. 

They peeked shyly at each other out of the corners of their eyes, still holding each other, with one arm free. 

_ Okay, Marinette, think. How do we hold hands again? I have  _ really _ got to get it right this time _ .

_ Okay, Adrien, think. How do I get her to hold hands with me again? Last time… well. Yeah. _

For a while they sat there, bound together by Ivan’s shirt and their arms around each other, not sure what to do with the spare hand. Engrossed in each other, but too nervous to do much. Ignoring the increasingly hooking-up classmates of theirs, scattered throughout the room.

_ Knees! Of course! _ Marinette had taken some  _ very  _ detailed measurements of Adrien, recently, and though the boy was no slouch, he wasn’t an Ivan. If she just put her hand on his  _ knee _ , she would  _ definitely  _ not feel him up again (yet) and she could  _ definitely  _ signal where her hand was! For holding! She could feel the length of his leg pressing against her, nice and warm--it was a sure-fire way to make it work. 

She inched her hand down her own leg, trying to accurately gauge where Adrien’s knee would be. _Can’t_ foutre _this up_ _this time_. 

She made her move, sliding her hand onto his knee and giving it a gentle squeeze.  _ Smooooooth _ . Adrien tensed a little bit, but  _ immediately _ joined his hand with hers, searing off the skin of her face with a nuclear detonation of a smile. 

They sat like that for a while, both slightly nervous, slightly giggling. Holding hands, cuddling up on each other, being very,  _ very _ adorable. 

By this time, they had begun to notice the ambient teen escapades around them. Rose seated on the kitchen counter, Juleka’s lips pressed up against her, hands out of sight. Mylene sitting on Ivan’s lap, bending his head down and over to latch on to her throat. The sexual mirepoix next to them was sprouting a number of distinct limbs and tufts of pink hair and moving rhythmically. 

Marinette’s breath caught in her throat.  _ This is just like last night, when everyone got distracted by each other except us… _ She turned to Adrien.

He was already looking at her. His left hand had traced up her back, and was cradling her neck. 

“Marinette?” he asked.

“Yes, Adrien?” she answered, already feeling her eyelids fluttering closed.

“Do you know what I’d really like right now?” His voice was low, pitched exactly for her ears and no one else’s. He was running his fingers up and down the back of her neck, in the part of her hair between her pigtails. Each stroke of his fingers against her skin made her tremble.

“Wh-what would you like?” she replied, barely able to keep her voice steady. Her lips were half pursed, and she could feel his face moving down to hers.

“I’d really like--”

“HOT CROSS BUNS!

HOT CROSS BUNS!

ONE A PENNY, TWO A PENNY

HOT CROSS BUNS!”

Tom Dupain’s booming voice startled the horny right off of everyone. A roomful of teens looked around, every which way, flustered and trying to look as innocent as possible. When had he gotten here? Why was he singing?

“HOT CROSS BUNS!

HOT CROSS BUNS!

ONE A PENNY, TWO A PENNY

HOT CROSS BUNS!”

Marinette groaned, the sound turning into a frustrated scream as she let go of Adrien’s hand and dug around in the pocket of her pajamas.

She produced her phone, its lock screen displaying Tom’s huge bakerly face by way of caller ID, and playing the custom-recorded ringtone Marinette had set for her parents’ numbers.

“HOT CROSS BUNS!

HOT CROSS BUNS!

ONE A PENNY, TWO A PENNY

HOT CROSS BUNS!”

Marinette made the universal sign for “Oh my god shut up my parents are calling,” and answered her phone.

“H-hi papa! What? Yeah, everything’s fine! Oh… ah! That’s… wonderful! Twenty minutes, you say? G-great! Seeeeee you soon!” She ended the call with a set of awkward, drawn-out syllables.

Her panicked expression told everyone everything they needed to know. Time to get somewhat decent, grab your stuff, and hit the road, Jacques. 

In an instant, the whole third floor was a bedlam of teen frenzy. Previously-making-out classmates were hastily adjusting their clothes to cover the pertinent bits, shucking themselves out of Ivan’s t-shirts and scrambling up the stairs to Marinette’s room, where their non-pajama garments were. Everyone--even precious naive cinnamon roll Adrien--moved with the frantic speed reserved exclusively for teenagers who were About To Get Caught Doing Something. 

Sure, Tom Dupain was nice and everything, but he outweighed everyone at the party ( _ sans _ Ivan) put together. His arms were the size of Alya, minimum. And  _ Sabine  _ just  _ had _ to be hiding some lethal capacities. She looked sweet, but her eyes had the flintly gaze of someone who could see men  _ die _ and never stop to blink. Take no chances. The imminent arrival of parents was an inchoate, wordless  _ force _ , the call of which  _ must  _ be obeyed. 

While Marinette fluttered about the kitchen, helplessly cleaning breakfast-mess, her room was full of teens desperately jamming themselves into clothing and somehow managing to resist ogling each other--Marinette, of course, had a perfectly fine excuse to be in pajamas. The entire loft had the flailing hysteria of a mid-scene costume change, backstage at a junior production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream… but with only a slim fraction of the nervous giggling and peeking at underwear.

Thumps and shuffling echoed through Marinette’s loft room, filtering through the open trap door and giving a breakneck tempo to Marinette’s mad cleaning scramble. One by one, teenagers raced through the living room and down the stairs, saying hurried goodbyes as they left.

“Thank you for a lovely party, Marinette! Sorry we have to leave so soon! I’d help clean up if I could,” called Rose, being dragged by Juleka, who added a quiet, “Uh, yeah, definitely. It was great. Bye.” Back to her old tricks, being quiet and awkward. 

“Nice,” said Alix, shooting Marinette some finger guns.

“HEY THIS WAS REALLY COOL LET’S DO IT AGAIN SOMETIME OKAY BYE,” Mylene called in tandem with Ivan, who was busily stuffing his rumpled shirts into a duffel bag, on the way out the door. “YOU’RE THE BEST GOOD LUCK WITH ADRIEN BYE!”

“Thanks for letting us use your chaise, Marinette!” said Nino. “You can really throw a party! Hey, just so you know, if you find a pain du chocolate up by your chaise, just throw it out, trust me.”

“Girl. Details later. Wink.” Alya was out in a flash, dragging Nino with her and whispering into his ear. “Hey Mr. DJ, I’m not quite done with you yet…”

“Thanks for having me, Marinette,” came a soft voice from behind her. 

Adrien. Adrien alone in the house with her. 

“Aaa! I mean--yeah! You can have me any way you want!”  _ Merde _ . “I mean, I love to have my way with you there!”  _ Foutre _ . “I mean! Aaa! Thank you for coming!”  _ No!  _ “I’m glad you came!”  _ Just as bad! _ “...It was great for you to be here!”

Adrien chuckled lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. Nervous. Immune to her unintentional innuendos.  _ But not immune to my charms, ooh la la _ . 

“It was really great to be here! I… I’ve never been to a real party before, but this one really made up for it.”

Marinette blushed. She’d popped Adrien’s party-cherry, and was  _ ravenous  _ to snag a couple more firsts. And vice versa. “N-next time it’ll be even better,” she said, hoping her social life could cash the checks her mouth was writing.

“Next time?” 

“Y-yeah! Wouldn’t it be great if I got to take you to more parties?” she said, intentionally adding a possessive little zing, thrilling at the idea of getting to  _ take Adrien  _ to a party. “I-I’ve never had more fun at a p-party, and it w-was great getting to… uh… know you better.”

“Definitely. It really was, Marinette.”

They stood there, looking at each other, biting their respective lips, actually alone together for the first time that weekend. More or less. 

The weight of an impending coffee date smothered them, but a good kind of smothering, Marinette thought. Like having someone press your face into your favorite dessert, forever.

Like, for example, a croquembouche…

Marinette blushed at the thought of the most romantic and sensual of French pastries, the croquembouche, a glistening tower of choux pastry and spun sugar, a perennial favorite of Paris weddings. And Marinette’s dessert of choice for when she and Adrien--

_ Getting ahead of myself _ , she thought.

No part of her wanted Adrien to leave. Every fiber of her being wished for him to stay and finish that kiss that they had almost,  _ almost _ gotten to so many times since last night. Every fiber of her being wanted  _ more  _ than that, so much more that her desperate need would swallow them both up for hours and days and years of doing  _ things _ and  _ verbs _ to each other  _ all the time _ . 

She consciously limited her vocabulary--any more descriptive terminology would likely distract from the fact that her parents were on their way home.

... _ Oh foutre _ .

She opened her mouth to speak, jaws creaking and reluctant to even suggest that Adrien needed to go. But it was necessary, as inevitable as Chat’s bad puns or Papillon’s campy character designs. 

“A-Adrien, you--”

“Can I get your number?” he blurted out, all in a rush. “For our date! That we will have! I… would need your number. To text you. So we could… uh… plan. Date. Go date.”

His words were coming out all Marinette-style, short, awkward bursts with little skill in connecting them.  _ Good sign, right? That seems good _ . 

“Y-yes! Phones! I have one that has a number and… uh… it’s yours! You can have that.”

They went back and forth, repeatedly agreeing that they needed to give each other each other’s numbers. It was a full two minutes before either had the presence of mind to put digits to devices and actually  _ exchange _ the information. Brief outbursts of “hee hee”s slowed the process considerably. 

By the time they had agreed (several times over) that they would text each other as soon as Marinette had dealt with her parents, Marinette checked the time. Nineteen minutes since her papa had called her. One minute left to clean up the calamity of a kitchen left over from brunch. One minute left to straighten up her maelstrom of a room from the depredations of exuberant teens. 

It was impossible. She was dead. Her parents had laid a perfect trap,  _ knowing _ that she would get up to no good, and  _ planning _ their ambush to catch her in the act. Escape was impossible. Cleaning the mess would take an act of god, or something similarly miraculous.

... _ Miraculous _ .

“Tikki!” shouted Marinette. “Transformer-moi!”

 

* * *

 

The lucky charm was a Roomba, which was pretty on-the-nose, but Marinette wasn’t defeating any akumas right now. No, the only butterfly effect here was the exponential decay of having nine teenagers drinking, eating, and necking for twenty hours straight. The lucky charm was merely the path she had to take to get to the--

“Miraculous Ladybug!” 

A swarm of magical ladybugs swarmed through the house, cleaning cookware, straightening furniture, airing out Teen Hormone Vapors. Dishes were washed, glasses were emptied, liquor bottles were removed to a private corner for later disposal. Even Adrien’s Jackson Pollock impression on the ceiling above Marinette’s bed got returned to its pristine state.

_ I cannot believe that actually worked _ , thought Marinette.  _ I sure hope Tikki doesn’t kill me. _

Marinette looked over her (well, her miraculous’) handiwork with pride. Nary a spoon out of place. Completely covered up. The perfect crime.

And just in the nick of time, as well--she heard her maman’s footsteps tapping up the stairway, followed closely by her father’s heavier tread. Letting her transformation dissolve around her, she winked at Tikki, who luckily enough winked back.  _ Tikki is a solid wingman. Wingwoman? Wingkwami? Whatever _ .  _ Thanks, Tikki. I am going to make you an entire cake _ . She walked to the door, poised to open it for her parents.

“Um, Marinette?” The little red figure was gesturing at something on Marinette’s chest.

She looked down, ready to swipe off some errant remains of breakfast.

_ Oh.  _

Wide-eyed and slack-jawed in panic, Marinette zoomed up the stairs to her room, stripping off  _ Adrien Agreste’s shirt _ as she went. As mistakes went, getting caught having thrown a party was one thing; getting caught wearing some mysterious boy’s  _ clothes _ was quite another. 

“I’m so sorry, shirt,” she whispered to it, balling it up and throwing it onto her bed. “Please forgive me, I’ll make it up to you for tossing you so rudely.”

She wiggled her way into one of her usual sleeping shirts right as her father called up to her, “Marinette! We’re back!”

She shot a glance at Tikki, the kwami holding her little flipper-hands over her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. After a moment of scrunching her face up at the diminutive kwami, she smoothed out her features and tried to pretend like she was just a regular girl with a regular life, regular as any old day, and walked down the stairs from her room.

“Maman! Papa! Welcome back! Did you have fun?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look me in the eye and tell me anyone wouldn't use Miraculous Ladybug like this every goddamn chance they got.
> 
> I really should have titled this chapter "In Which One Second Of Activity Is Described At Length."
> 
> EDIT: Changed Collége to Lycée.


	15. In Which Responsibilities Are Discussed And A Tragedy Avoided

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette spends some quality time with her parents, now that they are back, and Adrien receives some news about his modelling schedule. A timely reminder prevents a very unpleasant situation, and certain individuals have underdeveloped concepts of privacy. Lastly, a plan begins to form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the gentle and refined humor for which I am so widely known.
> 
> Y'all! I've passed 200 comments, 500 kudos, and 8500 views! I'm so happy that so many people have taken the time to read this, is seriously keeps me going. Thank you so much, everyone. I want to keep this dumb little fic going and going and going, and your comments and kudos mean a very great deal to me.
> 
> I love and admire you all.

_Wide-eyed and slack-jawed in panic, Marinette zoomed up the stairs to her room, stripping off **Adrien Agreste’s shirt**_ _as she went. As mistakes went, getting caught having thrown a party was one thing; getting caught wearing some mysterious boy’s **clothes** was quite another._

_“I’m so sorry, shirt,” she whispered to it, balling it up and throwing it onto her bed. “Please forgive me, I’ll make it up to you for tossing you so rudely.”_

_She wiggled her way into one of her usual sleeping shirts right as her father called up to her, “Marinette! We’re back!”_

_She shot a glance at Tikki, the kwami holding her little flipper-hands over her mouth to keep from bursting out laughing. After a moment of scrunching her face up at the diminutive kwami, she smoothed out her features and tried to pretend like she was just a regular girl with a regular life, regular as any old day, and walked down the stairs from her room._

_“Maman! Papa! Welcome back! Did you have fun?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Sabine eased herself down onto the couch, humming in delight.

“Oh Marinette! It was lovely. Your father and I love Marseilles, it’s such a joy to see the Mediterranean. We had enough time to take a little cruise down to the Cote d’Azur, and it was just so beautiful.”

Tom lumbered up the stairs, sweeping Marinette into an embrace and kissing her cheek. Marinette grinned, bent over to give her mother the same treatment, and joined her on the opposite side of the couch.

...Where she had so recently grabbed Adrien’s…

She blushed slightly.  _Preserve those details. No need to stay and talk to your parents. Stick around enough to be polite, then head upstairs to take care of what Adrien started on the floor._

“When you find a special person, Marinette,” said her father, “you have to make sure to save up and treat them to a little luxury here and there. Nothing keeps the spark alive like a romantic getaway.”

“And since we live in Paris, the baseline romanticness is extremely high already,” added Sabine. She tugged Tom onto the couch next to her, sliding her leg over his, clearly more relaxed than she had been in months. “But your father really knows how to keep a lady satisfied.” Her hand reached up to lovingly caress his mustache.

“Uh, mom…” said Marinette, not certain where this was going.

Tom gazed down at his wife with hooded eyes, eyebrows rapidly jiggling up and down. Implying.  _Suggestive_.

Marinette looked on, horror mounting. She felt her jaw go slack, her mouth curl into a helpless, despondent arc. Her pupils and irises, normally so vibrant, shrank to pinpoints.

“ _Very_ satisfied,” added Tom, making it worse. He slipped one Marinette-sized arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“G….good?” asked Marinette, unsure what to say. Words couldn’t make it worse, so potentially they could make it better.

“SO good,” whispered Sabine. Her eyes were locked with Tom’s.  “Your father and I shared an  _entire_ croquembouche.”

Croquembouche.

The most romantic, the most  _French_ , of all the boulanger’s wares.

The most  _sexual_ pastry.

The implication of its consumption was obvious. Marinette knew that few events would warrant the private consumption of a croquembouche. Wedding nights. First nervous encounters in a lover’s  _boudoir_. Significant anniversaries.

On holiday, Marinette’s parents had been--dare she even think it?-- _earning_ their croquembouche.

“Mmmm,” hummed Tom, moving in closer to Sabine. Intent on a kiss. Intent on a  _very involved_ kiss. The kind which is the grossest for one’s teenage children to witness. “That croquembouche was  _very_ good.”

_Please stop_ , thought Marinette.  _Please stop saying croquembouche. I grew up in this bakery, I know what it means_.

“It was so…  _big_.” Sabine was sliding her hand up Tom’s thigh, a satisfied twinkle in her eye.

Her parents looked at her, slightly shocked expressions on their faces.  _Oh_ , thought Marinette.  _I appear to have screamed._

“WELP, GLAD TO HEAR IT, GLAD IT WAS FUN,” she said, at a reasonable volume. “Just had to make some sounds because I was so happy for you! Yep.” A constant, nervous chuckle escaped.

Both Tom and Sabine looked rapidly left and right, at least having enough shame, post-vacation, to avoid traumatizing their daughter. They stayed a little bit all over each other, but Marinette’s tolerance for witnessing other people cuddling was at an all-time high since the party.

“Ha! Well, Marinette, you see, a good vacation can have effects that really stick with you!” Tom laughed. “Yes, sir, really lifts the mood.”

“Listen to your father, Marinette. You’re always so tired and stressed out during the week! You could really use a good vacation, or a little party or something.”

Marinette let a secretive little smile slip across her lips.  _You just might be right, maman._ Sabine was continuing.

“It’s truly amazing how great a good vacation can be, in so many ways,” Sabine said, smiling back up at Tom briefly before gazing off with a smile on her face. “I al _ready_ feel pregnant.”

For the second time that day, Marinette found herself suddenly and inexplicably on the floor. She returned to awareness with her parents looking over her, concern in their eyes.

“Oh my word, Marinette! It was just a joke!”

“You should have seen your face!”

“You should have seen your  _own_ , Tom.”

“Buh?” asked Marinette.

Sabine helped her to her feet, dusting her off and holding her by her shoulders.

“Sorry, maman, I… uh… got dizzy?”

“Now, now, Marinette, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about! It’s perfectly natural, you know.”

“Maman!”

“It is!”

“Listen to your mother, Marinette.” Tom patted the seat, inviting Marinette to sit down again. Still a little dizzy, she did so in a stupor.

“You can’t go around being shocked by these kinds of things, sweetie! It’s all just a part of growing up.” Sabine took a seat next to Marinette and lay a hand on her shoulder. “We don’t want you to feel like… well, to feel like you can’t  _talk_ to us about these things.”

_Oh no_.

“You know, if there’s a special someone in your life.”

_Oh_   _NO_.

Marinette felt her eyes compressing back into pinpoints, and she looked from her mother’s face to her father’s and back again. No escape. No reprieve.

“Intimacy can be a very important part of a relationship, Marinette. It certainly is for your father and me.”

“AAAAA!” Marinette clapped her hands to her mouth, smothering a scream and also herself.

“But what’s most important is that you stay safe, and don’t get hurt.”

“I… I don’t…” she began, uncertain where she was going with this. Every once in a while  _these_ conversations would pop up. Normally, they weren’t so relevant, let alone  _prescient_. Giving another glance to her mother’s hand on her father’s thigh, she added:  _Or so topical_.

Her mother was still speaking, some dire incantation designed specifically for torturing one’s daughters. “One of these days, you’re going to start dating, and we don’t want you to be… unprepared. For anything that might happen.”

“Someday, you might come to me and ask me, “Papa, can you bake a croquembouche for me? I have a date tonight” And I just want to know that whoever’s going to be  _sharing_ that croquembouche is taking care of my little girl.”

Marinette folded over in her seat, arms wrapped around herself. She was breathing hard, but somehow unable to catch her breath. Every word stabbed at her still-tender awkwardness receptors like a vicious pitchfork.

“When--if--you decide take that step, I’ll know my baby girl is all grown up.”

Somehow, it got worse. Marinette would have collapsed forward, falling off of the sofa onto her face in an attempt to escape this conversation, but her mother’s firm hand on her shoulder kept her in place. A skill borne of years catching an awkward and easily-horrified daughter had honed her reflexes to prescient sharpness. Marinette felt herself emitting a low, miserable moan. Her low, miserable moan muscles had been getting quite a workout of late.

“Even if it feels too soon, I trust you, and I trust that you’ll make decisions that are right for you.”

_Okay that’s a nice sentiment I guess but_ \--

“And if you decide to make  _intimacy_ a part of any relationship…”

_NOPE got worse_.

“...Which we would completely understand…”

She started rocking back and forth, covering her face in her hands.  _Have to hide_   _can’t handle it oh no I’m going to die and I never even got to kiss Adrien why is this my life oh why oh why--_

“... We can talk about maybe getting you on birth control.”

_I’ll never even get to have Adrien’s--Wait what now?_

“What? Really?” she said, putting word to thought with lightning speed, and launching herself to a sitting position with the same. Such an offer had never been made before, and she had been eternally too abashed to make the request herself. And given the now-defunct unobtainability of Adrien, she hadn’t felt  _nearly_ as pressing of a need in months gone by. This was an  _opportunity_.

“Um,” her parents replied, slightly blown backwards by the alacrity of her posture change.  _Uh oh. Too eager._

“I mean… uh… wow that’s a lot of… responsibility? I’ll have to, uh… think about it.”  _Okay I thought about it._ “You know, it probably  _is_ a good idea to be on the safe side, right? Ha ha! Yeah! Safety first!”

Her parents exchanged a glance, then looked back to her, smiling. “Well, that’s good,” said Tom.

“Yes, Marinette, very mature of you,” Sabine agreed. “Your father and I are very proud that you’re making good long-term decisions. I’ll set up an appointment for you next wee--”

“Monday’s good! Yeah, or tomorrow, if the doctor’s open on Sundays. You know, no time like the present!”

Sabine raised her eyebrows. “Why, that certainly is… a lot of forethought. Very commendable.”

“We appreciate you being responsible like this, you know,” said Tom. “I hope you don’t feel like we’re pressuring you into this decision--we only want what’s best for you. To protect you.”

“Ha ha yes, of course! I don’t feel pressured at all! No sirree!” she said, as innocent and pure as the driven snow. “Welp, don’t mind me! I think I’ll probably just head up to my room to finish off my lazy Saturday afternoon! Maybe do a little sewing, who knows!”

“That’s our Marinette, always running that sewing machine at odd hours!” Marinette was already halfway up the stairs to her room, focused entirely on a number of scenarios involving her upcoming date with Adrien and contraceptive status. She waved back at her parents, before closing the trap door with a hurried slam. A muffled buzz, as of a sewing machine used for something other than its intended design, quietly emerged from the cracks.

Tom wrapped his arm around Sabine, gazing up at the trap door.

“I’m so glad we got the loft soundproofed when Marinette hit puberty.”

Sabine nodded. “For more reasons than one.” Standing up, Sabine took her husband’s much-larger hand in hers. She stroked her free hand across his mustache. “You know, Tom, in truth I barely feel pregnant at all. Would you like to help me… change that?”

Tom’s face split into a broad grin--given his size, the only kind available. Giggling, he let his smiling wife pull him to the bedroom. They weren’t going to let a little thing like their  _own_ responsible contraceptive choices interrupt a long-running malapropism for getting their swerve on.  _Any_ baker can put a bun in the oven with no intention of baking it.

“You know, love,” he said, “I think there’s even a little croquembouche left over.”

...

Up in her room, Marinette’s thoughts were, unsurprisingly, also on croquembouche. In particular, the fact that the pastries which composed it were often crème-filled.

 

* * *

 

 

“Adrien, your father will be wintering in Rome to prep and launch the Agreste winter lines. Since you’re a summer, your modeling commitments will be commensurately reduced.”

“Really?” This was great news. Adrien sat up straighter, no longer slouching onto the duffel bag resting on the seat between them, drawing his eyes away from the car window. Fewer modeling engagements meant more time doing actually  _fun_ things. And since Adrien’s definition of (and potential options for)  _fun_ had been broadened considerably since yesterday, he was  _very_ excited about  the opportunity for more.

Particularly with a certain young lady who sat behind him at school.

“I will be accompanying Mr. Agreste for the duration, as will your bodyguard. A driver will of course be provided in the interim.”

“Now wait a Marininute--” _whoops._ “ _\--minute_! I hardly think I need a--”

“Since you have proved yourself capable of walking to school in safety--”  _Not sure how I like that phrasing_ , thought Adrien. “--the driver will of course be on call, but not required.” Nathalie checked her tablet, swiping across various spreadsheets and graphs. “Your father has indicated that, following trends, he is confident that there will be fewer akuma attacks. For the next few months.”

Pere _certainly has been taking an active interest in collecting data about akumas, I guess._

_…_

_Good!_

“Okay! Great! I can bakerly--”  _dammit, pastries on the mind_ “--  _barely_ believe it!”

_Pere_ had a pretty good point, though. Attacks had been getting more and more spaced out, and even the akuma this morning had barely done any damage. Really a phoned-in design, too, far from the normally flamboyant costumes. Maybe Papillon was winding down for the winter? Maybe he had just been lazy?

Well, it was  _something_ throwing off his game, at least.

“We will, of course, expect you to keep up with your Chinese, piano, fencing, and schoolwork.”

“Datefinitely!”  _foutre_. “I mean definitely!”

Nathalie gave him a look over the edge of her glasses. “This is a considerable amount of trust your father is placing in you, Adrien. He expects that you will be responsible.”

He sighed and slumped lower in his seat, temporary joy dissolving as Nathalie explained the restrictions on his per diem. Gabriel Agreste’s trust always came with a  _lagniappe_ , A little bonus treat to prove you  _deserve_ to be trusted. The oppressive weight of the Agreste mansion's panopticon of security paraphernalia would help ensure that Adrien’s  _responsibility_ would be extremely well documented.

A boy could hardly transform into a magical black leather cat hero without being recorded, these days.

“I know, Nathalie. Don’t worry. I know what’s expected.”  _If nothing else, there are fewer eyes on me outside the compound. Maybe I could even take an unscheduled outing!_

_What a day!_ He wasn’t even certain if he was being sarcastic.

_Whoa, rein it in a little, sad sack._

“Excellent. We’re leaving tonight. Your father was up quite late working, so I recommend keeping quiet.”

...

Back at the mansion, Adrien poked his head into his father’s immense office. It would always do to appear suitably subservient and humble when granted the least favor--lessons you learn quickly with a father like Gabriel Agreste.

“ _Pere_?”

A soft mumble was his only response. Adrien swung the door out just wide enough to slip through, padding up to his father’s desk on quiet socks. Sprawled across his desk, Gabriel Agreste managed to look rather stately passed out on a pile of textile samples. Six martini glasses, devoid of olives, surrounded him like the halo of whatever avenging angel protects you from clashing patterns. Those olives had likely been his only dinner, too. Gabriel’s tablet was still on, displaying charts and graphs in a painfully small font, but with an optimistic upwards trend.

_Big night for both of us, I see_ , thought Adrien, as he scooted the martini glasses out of the way. He plugged his father’s tablet back in (it was at 4%--potential disaster), placed his glasses within easy reach of a cup of water and some aspirin, and gently patted his father’s pointy undercut.  _He works too hard_.

Before he left, he scribbled something on a sticky note and left it stuck to the hardest-working tablet in Paris.

_Have a good trip!_

_Love,_

_-A_

 

* * *

 

 

The instant the trap door closed, Marinette was at her desk, dragging the heavy sewing machine to the edge and lifting her shirt up for easier access to her  _tetonettes_. She gripped the cloth with her teeth as she worked the foot pedal, starting the machine to its helpful vibration, and pressed herself against it. She screwed her eyes closed, face intent on exactly one purpose. One hand braced herself against the wood of the desk, while the other caressed  _tétine_ -wards, and she already felt pressure building.

She had  _really_ not been giving herself the usual ramping-up, lately.

Rhythmically, timing the thrust of her hips with the pressure applied to the foot pedal, she ground herself against the safe end of her sewing machine. She reveled in the fact that, despite  _definitely_ voiding the warranty, the glorious gift of rapidly oscillating apparatuses could get one off in a goddamn hurry. And after accidentally straddling Adrien’s Bucephalus, Marinette was in a mood to finish what her inadvertent dry-hump had started.

She felt her breathing pick up pace and catch in her throat, and her gyrations quickly became more fervent, better focused. The humming vibration of her machine echoed through her, seeming to drive a bright electric lance from her  _bijou_ up through her spine and the back of her head. Sensation engulfed her, and, heedless of how she was rapidly soaking her pajama pants with no panties on, she rode the crest of an aggressive, insistent orgasm. In that moment, she felt every part of herself, down to the tips of her pigtails quivering, feeling as sensitive as any zone of her body had ever been.

Her foot had long since slipped off the pedal, and she let herself slump, almost boneless, against the wall. Her shirt, well-chewed, slipped from between her lips as she curled her expression into a satisfied smile. A satisfied sigh escaped her lips.

“Okay, so now that you’re done--” said Tikki,

“AaaaAAAAA!”

Three times. Three times in an hour, Marinette had found herself unexpectedly floorbound. At least for this one should could chase the fleeting warmth of the afterglow.

“I’m sorry Marinette! I know you usually go more than once--” and under her breath she added, “to say the least,” before she continued: “--but it’s kind of a kwami emergency! You used the lucky charm twice this morning, and I really need to recharge.”

“Ah!” Marinette was aghast. After such a tactical, and slightly selfish, use of Miraculous Ladybug, she had entirely forgotten that she would need to sate her kwami’s sweet tooth. “I’m so sorry, Tikki! I’ll get you something right away, there’s gotta be some leftover sweets around here somewhere.”

Tikki nodded and flitted off, and she and Marinette lightly tore apart the slightly too-orderly room in search of wherever the magic of the miraculous had deposited the remaining pastries.

Marinette had just resorted to lifting up the sheets of her bed in search of some sad, discarded croissant, when Tikki called to her from the chaise.

“I found one! There was a pain au chocolat under a pillow on the chaise, isn’t that weird?” Tikki opened her tiny kwami mouth immensely wide to get a mouthful of the sweet treat.

Time slowed down.

Pain au chocolat is normally a croissant dough wrapped in a cylinder around chocolate. The Tom & Sabine Boulangerie-Patisserie pain au chocolat was an exemplar of that form, made with chunks of rich, dark Belgian chocolate and no other filling. They had been the better part of the pastries Marinette had contributed to the party.

So why, then, was this pain au chocolat dripping such a sticky white filling?

Marinette flashed back to what Nino had said, upon exiting. “ _Hey, just so you know, if you find a pain du chocolate up by your chaise, just throw it out, trust me_.”

Alya had mentioned that she wouldn’t leave “ _a bunch of Ninoixx all over your furniture_.”

Nino--with the help of Alix and Alya--had turned the esteemed Tom & Sabine Boulangerie-Patisserie pain au chocolat into a pain au nuttella. Emphasis on the  _nutt_.

Drawing on some inner reserve of Ladybug strength and agility, Marinette launched herself from her lofted bed, directly at her kwami.

Tikki’s eyes were closed, in savoring anticipation of the pastry from which she was about to take a comically large bite.

A single dollop of something extremely unlike chocolate dripped out of the far end of the pain au Nino.

Marinette slapped the pastry out of Tikki’s hands (paws? nubs?), spiking it viciously into the endzone of a convenient trashcan. Touchdown. It flopped, defeated, against the bottom of the bag with a wet  _splutch_.

Time returned to its normal pace, and Marinette descended onto the chaise with all the grace and poise of a wacky waving inflatable arm flailing tube man. Briefly dazed, she tried to look up to Tikki.

Her kwami was frozen, staring down at her with eyes wide, irises shrunk to pinpoints. Her mouth still hung open from where she had been preparing to sample the pastry, but it had now acquired a sort of outraged slackness, as of a deeply and personally offended member of some ancient nobility. Her brow was furrowed, half in consternation, half in  _righteous vengeance_.

The situation very much required explanation.

“I-I-I-I’m so sorry Tikki! I couldn’t let you eat that!” Marinette scrambled to a sitting position, scooting back against the pillows of the chaise, where the innocent pastry had been corrupted.

“WHY NOT!?” For such a tiny creature, Tikki could certainly become loud and menacing on short notice. Her antennae, normally so curved placid, were standing upright and perfectly straight into the air. They quivered with aghast outrage, and Marinette imagined that she could see tiny arcs of electricity traveling between them.

“Something bad happened to it! It’s gross! It’s a human thing!”

“What the fuck kind of a human thing makes you slap my pastry, Marinette!? What the hell!?”

Marinette sucked in a breath at Tikki’s language--English, of all things!--but brushed it off given the obvious faux pas of the situation.

“Really Tikki, honest! I couldn’t let you eat that!”

“What happened to it, Marinette? What could warrant you slapping my breakfast away like a thief in the night?!”

How to explain the finer points of human sexuality to an ageless semi-divine floating bug-avatar? Marinette blushed.  _Also why would a thief slap your breakfast?_

“S-so, Alya and N-Nino and Alix were on the chaise last night…”

Tikki was tapping her foot in impatience. The gesture was futile, given that she was floating in the air, but her meaning came across fine, regardless.

“A-and they were doing… uh…”

“They were kissing and things, yes, I get it.”

“Um… more than kissing…”

“Right, they were mating, but not really.”

_Weird_. “Yeah! Uh… and when… b-boys… uh… finish mating, some… stuff. Comes out.”

“Yeah? So?”

_I did not expect to be having this conversation today_ , thought Marinette.  _How can I make a millennia-old force of nature that it’s gross to eat a jizz-filled pastry? Can I just say that?_

“Okay Tikki… uh… In this day and age… um… It is considered very gross and weird to eat any food that someone else skeeted into unless you know that person  _pretty well_.”

Tikki’s face drooped into a Marinette-worthy mask of stupefied dismay. Her antennae drooped down again, held close to her head, distraught. Her brow sloped upwards, turning the expression of her face from one of wrath to one of hopeless, muddled abhorrence. She glanced to the rubbish bin, taking in the sight of a slightly oozing pain-au-chocolat-cum-pain-au-nuttella-du-Nino. Thankfully, Marinette’s timely intervention had resulted in that, “taking in” beginning and ending with her eyes, and not her mouth.

The little kwami was all thanks and apology as she flitted down, shamefaced, to Marinette’s cheek. She nuzzled into her miraculous holder.

“I love you Marinette,” she said. “You saved me from eating that… that… mess.”

“I love you too, Tikki,” she replied. “Also Adrien,” she added in a whisper.

“Of course!” Tikki giggled against her. “Now get me some pastries and try not to let anyone  _foutre_ them on the way back.”

“Tikki! Gross!”

“I heard what your parents were saying earlier, Marinette! It’s not off the table!”

“I am absolutely not hearing this!”

“Then get me some virgin pastries! Time’s a wastin’! Honestly, you’re making me feel like Plagg here.”

“Who?”

“FOCUS. Hungry kwami.”

“Okay, gosh!”

“Please check them for cum.”

“TIKKI!”

 

* * *

 

 

It was late afternoon by the time Adrien settled into his cavernous room for some quality time with his hand and his memories.

First things first. Still fully clothed, he slunk over to his computer, and turned every monitor (each with a high-definition portrait of Ladybug in action as the background) to face away from his bed. He re-draped his fencing banner over the Ladybug poster hanging above his pillows, and covered his limited edition Ladybug figurine with a towel.

Ladybug herself might have said it was fine to go after Marinette, but there was no sense in being  _rude_ about it. One does not simply jerk off thinking about  _one_ lady, while thinking of  _another_.

...In fact, there had been a dare exactly to that effect, last night.

Having successfully averted Ladybug’s eyes, Adrien leapt into bed. His pants left his body with startling rapidity, his duffel bag left unnoticed on the couch. He had been nursing a semi-chub for hours (only downgraded from Full Chub once Marinette’s grip had left his dingus), kept smoldering by the memories of Marinette’s face mid-ecstasy, and feel of her grinding against him during their inadvertent spill onto the floor. It was absolutely high time for him to jerk his--

“Before you start, how about some cheese?”

“Plagg! Rude! Come on, man!”

“What? My body has needs, too. Cheese, mostly.”

“You ate like four whole wheels of Camembert at the party! And we didn’t even use Cataclysm this morning!”

Plagg sighed and shook his head. “Adrien, Adrien, Adrien.” The aforementioned realized he was still holding a handful of himself in the middle of what was proving to be an actual conversation. He reluctantly tucked himself back into his boxers. Unsurprisingly, he made a tent large enough for Plagg to camp in.

The little kwami wasn’t done making fun of him. “You may not believe this, but even if I ate something yesterday, it doesn’t mean I don't want to eat something today. Why you yourself might have noticed that once eat something, you get hungry again! Insane and wild!”

“Shut up, Plagg, I know.”

“You know this? And you  _also_ know that human beings can go for  _years_ without massaging themselves and whispering “Ladybug” over and over. And yet you choose not to.”

“Dammit! You have entirely ruined the mood!” he exclaimed. In a lower tone, “It wasn’t even going to be about Ladybug, dammit.”

“Oh I’m sorry, should I have thrown you off of a couch first? You’re a great miraculous holder, kid, but we don’t have that kind of a relationship.”

“Aaaa!  _Foutre_! Plagg, whoa!”

“Maybe that’s why you’re so into Ladybug, hmm? Got a secret thing for kwami?”

Adrien’s tent became a yurt, and then a sleeping bag, and then just boxers again. His mouth had unconsciously turned into a distressed bow.

“You know that’s not it! Gross! Well…” he thought for a second. “Not even gross, I guess just, like… wait, how would that even work?”

The little cat’s eyes widened in alarm. Plagg darted behind Adrien’s chair, peering over the top edge with ears flattened to his head. “Look… forget the cheese. I was just teasing you, okay? We don’t need to experiment or anything here.” Aside, he muttered to himself, “I hate it when they bring that up.”

“What?”

“Oh, like you’re the first miraculous holder who’s thought about fucking a kwami!”

“WHAT? I absolutely did not think that!!!”

“You expressly pondered the mechanics! I’ve seen that look before!”

“YOU are the one who interrupted ME about to beat off! You’re the pervert here!”

“Yeah well at least I don’t cavort with different magical species.”

“You are putting words in my mouth!”

“And that is ALL I will be putting in your mouth!”

Adrien emitted a soft groan and gave up, a little, deep inside his heart. He pulled a pillow over his face and screamed gently into it. Though it seemed much longer, the scream likely only lasted several seconds. Eventually Adrien de-embarrassed himself enough to speak.

“Plagg.”

“What, Adrien?”

“I don’t want to do anything sexual with you, buddy.”

“I know, I’m just  _foutre_ ing with you.”

“Goddammit, Plagg.”

“Look if you wanted sweet and supportive you should have gotten Tikki.”

“Who?”

“Nevermind. Back to the topic at hand. Cheese?” Plagg had flitted back over to Adrien, lifting the pillow off of his face. “Seriously, I could die.”

“No you couldn’t.”

“I’d  _want_ to die if I get any hungrier.”

“Ugh,  _fine_. I’ll get you something.”

“ _Finally_. See, a little Camembert and I leave you alone to your absurd human pleasure ritual.”

“Phrasing. And you completely ruined the mood.”

“I call it like I see it. And give it time. We both know you can barely hold out for an evening.”

...

After replacing his pants and scurrying to the ample cheese-larders of the Agreste mansion, Adrien made his way back to his room.

_Stupid Plagg interrupting my stupid jerking off to demand stupid cheese_.  _Stupid akuma stupid waking me up from cuddling with not-stupid Marinette. Stupid Akuma in general. Jeez that akuma sucked,_ he complained to himself.  _At least Ladybug managed to Miraculous Ladybug my hangover away. That was pretty great._

Ladybug had always been the more powerful of the two--creation, or at least re-creation, was always more difficult than destruction, he’d always figured. No one else could purify akumas or restore damage done to Paris. In comparison, though useful on occasion, his Cataclysm was far less all-encompassing. It didn’t fix anything, it only destroyed. Well, sometimes it made electronics go haywire or something, but the Miraculous Ladybug magic always righted that as well.

He smiled to himself, slipping down the long, empty hallway to his room. He might be alone, unsupervised, in his mansion, but whenever an Akuma struck or it was time to patrol the city, he was the most popular boy in Paris. He was certainly looking forward to his coffee date with Marinette--absolutely!--but months free from his father and Nathalie and Gorilla would also afford him ample time to patrol with Ladybug, maybe see her in action, restoring the entire city. It was amazing to witness, even after all this time.

Wait a minute.

Alone. Huge mansion. Security system. Haywire electronics. Ladybug’s magic. Memories of how great it was to  _party_.

He picked up speed, bursting into his room.

“PLAGG! Hey! Here’s your Camembert. You can get it after you answer a few questions for me,” he blurted, coming to a tumbling stop over the edge of his sofa.

He dangled a wedge of fragrant cheese in front of his protesting kwami. “Do you figure Ladybug’s power can fix, hypothetically, this mansion’s whole security system?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Return of the troll kwami! 
> 
> Okay, look I have limited knowledge of how sewing machines work but lets just assume that Marinette's vibrates, okay?
> 
> Also let's assume that French teenager awkward conversations with their parents are more or less the same as American teenager awkward conversations with their parents. That seems like a fair assumption, right?
> 
> Compliments to professorrumbleroar for not only guessing my joke but suggesting an even better punchline. I am humbled.


	16. In Which An Encounter Is Stumbled Upon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nino interrogates Adrien about Party Antics, and Marinette has some very specific questions to ask Alya concerning the disposition of a certain pastry she found on her chaise. Adrien and Alya plan a thing, and Marinette opens a door unwisely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July to my American readers! Fireworks are currently scaring my dog.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading thus far! I've got plenty more ideas to inflict on all of y'all, so keep reading. If you like it, tell your friends. If you hate it, tell your enemies. I'm finding, like so many fic authors, that comments and kudos give me *LIFE*. 
> 
> My love and admiration to each of you!

_He smiled to himself, slipping down the long, empty hallway to his room. He might be alone, unsupervised, in his mansion, but whenever an Akuma struck or it was time to patrol the city, he was the most popular boy in Paris. He was certainly looking forward to his coffee date with Marinette--absolutely!--but months free from his father and Nathalie and Gorilla would also afford him ample time to patrol with Ladybug, maybe see her in action, restoring the entire city. It was amazing to witness, even after all this time._

_Wait a minute._

_Alone. Huge mansion. Security system. Haywire electronics. Ladybug’s magic. Memories of how great it was to_ **_party_ ** _._

_He picked up speed, bursting into his room._

_“PLAGG! Hey! Here’s your Camembert. You can get it after you answer a few questions for me,” he blurted, coming to a tumbling stop over the edge of his sofa._

_He dangled a wedge of fragrant cheese in front of his protesting kwami. “Do you figure Ladybug’s power can fix, hypothetically, this mansion’s whole security system?”_

 

* * *

 

“Bro.”

Nino propped himself up against Adrien’s locker, forcing it closed with his weight. His arms were crossed, and his hat was tipped up, inquisitive.

“What’s the happs, Nino?”

“Alright everyone else can pretend like the party this weekend was totally a normal thing we don’t need to discuss,” he started, glancing around to make sure no one was around to overhear. “But you spent the night with Marinette, and then you levitated in the _foutu_ sky when you were all up in Ivan’s shirt.” He leaned in close. “I want details.”

Adrien immediately raced from bone china to terracotta with the speed of a champion thoroughbred.

“D-didn’t we agree that what happened at the party stayed at the party? That’s… that’s what Alya said, right?”

“Bro.”

“Bro?”

“Bro. Buddy.

“Dude.”

“Adrien. My _frere_ from another _mere_. It’s me, Nino, your second-ever friend. No secrets, chum. Pal o’ mine.”

Adrien looked around again. The locker room was exactly as deserted as it had been moments before. Even Plagg wasn’t paying attention--he was comfortably snoring in Adrien’s bag. “I, uh… I’m not sure Marinette would want me telling you. And like, isn’t it weird? You had a crush on Marinette for a while, I feel like that’s… uh…” he frowned, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t even have the vocabulary for why I feel like that’s messed up.”

Nino leaned in, conspiratorially, and squeezed Adrien’s shoulder. “Chum. Pal. Amigo. I am solidly having a crush on Alya right now, who is also my girlfriend. Ladybug herself intervened to hook us up. Our first date was in a panther cage.” Nino waggled his eyebrows, his face close enough to Adrien’s that that the motion caused his hat to repeatedly bop the blonde in the forehead. “Rrrrrowr. Mee-yow. Cat noises. You feel me?”

 _More than you could possibly know_ , _but…_ “I mean yeah I get it, you and Alya are an item but you, uh… kinda had a threesome last night? So it’s not like that would necessarily stop you.”

Nino shrugged and smiled to himself. “Okay fair point, fair point, but have you considered: tell me anyway?” He followed up his extremely convincing argument with finger guns. “Pew pew.”

Despite taking a center-mass pew pew from Nino’s finger guns, Adrien remained unconvinced.  He sighed. “Please don’t have a threesome with Marinette before I even get to kiss her…”

“That’s Marinette’s call mostly, bro, just being honest. But yeah dude! Distance will be kept.”

“Yeah definitely good point. Thanks? Thanks.”

Adrien looked into Nino’s golden-brown peepers and had a sudden, if belated, realization about his motives. Nino had a healthy understanding of the Bro Code ( _en Francais: Code de Freres_ ), which generally entailed the sharing of intimate sexual encounter details, but he also knew Adrien was an innocent, confused little lamb who needed to be treated tenderly. An inquisition like he was getting had some outside impetus.

“... Oh my god Alya put you up to this didn’t she.”

“Uh… no comment.”

“Dude come on. Alya’s probably got all the details out of Marinette already! She probably secretly interrogated her like nine times since Saturday. Just ask her.”

Nino crossed his arms and drooped his head, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat. He turned sidelong, slouching against the lockers. “Um… maybe I already did.”

 _Of course_ . Even if he was trying to develop something with Marinette now, Adrien knew that if he could get _any_ details at all about Ladybug’s date, he’d definitely be interested. He could appreciate Nino’s position, in that regard. Vicarious knowledge, about former crushes. Well… crushes that aren’t as completely current, at least. And Nino _had_ been honest. Eventually.

Then again, he also might just be cruising for another _ménage a_ whoever…

 _Huh._ Adrien caught himself looking Nino up and down. _You know… something to think about, there._

Back in the present. Adrien sighed, joining Nino in leaning against the locker. If Marinette had already shared with Alya, he supposed there wasn’t any harm in confirming what she’d said. Alya had a mind like a steel trap, and if there were discrepancies, he knew she’d find them, and suss out the truth. Honesty, best policy, etc.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what all happened, just only tell Alya, okay? I’m still a little weirded out all this information getting to someone who had a crush on Marinette.”

“Oh she still does.”

“What?”

“What?”

“No seriously. What was that?”

“Uh… Alya still has a crush on Marinette?”

“Dude! Whoa! Jeez!”

“What? It's not a huge deal dude. People get crushes. People like people. Welcome to public school, we’re all depraved perverts.”

“What do you want from me man? It's kind of super weird that two of my best friends both have a crush on the girl I--” _How to phrase this…_ “--had an _escapade_ with, and now want some down and dirty details! That's… I dunno!”

“So there ARE down and dirty details hmm? Do please continue.”

“Come on dude! I'm not sure how to feel about this.”

“Okay well first of all don't feel weird about us having a crush on Marinette I guess?”

“I feel like that is sort of a big deal, honestly!”

“Okay dude I’m going to let you in on a little secret. _Everyone_ has a crush on Marinette. That’s just how it is. Girl’s a sweetie.”

“What!?!?”

“Okay I get that you're oblivious but come on dude it's obvious. I'm into her. Kim is obviously into her, has been for a while. Nath drew _foutu_ MANGA of her. And Alya is like front and center at 90% of her freaking out about love. Hell, even Chloe got the thirst.”

“Chloe!? She hates Marinette!”

Nino closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing from the core of his being. “Okay I'm going to put this in phrases your weeaboo ass will understand.”  He opened his eyes and placed his hands on Adrien’s shoulders. “Get ready.”

Nino took a deep breath, steeling himself for the one language of romance even a homeschooled shut-in would understand: anime.

“‘B-baka! It’s not like I'm in love with Marinette or anything! She's so far beneath me!’ Who does that sound like? Does it sound like Chloe? Because that's what every single sentence she speaks to Marinette sounds like to me.”

Adrien slouched against the lockers. Eyes wide, unseeing.

“My god…”

“Yep. Chloe Bourgeois, tsundere queen.”

“Oh my god.”

“Take some time. This is a lot to realize all at once.” Under his breath, he added: “Really hope I didn't overload you too much…”

“She even does the ojousama laugh. She even has a _foutu_ kouhai! How could I be so baka!”

“Okay never say that again, but you get it right?”

Adrien crossed his arms over his chest, placing his hands on Nino’s where they still decorated his shoulders. “It’s all so clear now,” he said. “I was so blind…”

Nino gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Yeah man now you know. There's a bunch of crushes everywhere, in our class especially. Hell, you've noticed how they look at you.”

“How who looks at me?”

“Uh…”

“Nino! What? What did you mean?”

“Okay once again I cannot believe how maladroit you are in social situations. Dude, everyone in school pretty much _also_ has a crush on you, too. God why am I even having to clarify this for you how was this not obvious?”

“WHAT?”

“Seriously how did you miss it? Chloe is the most obnoxious about it, but you KNOW Marinette is down, and Alix checks you out every time you turn around to sit at your desk. Max is 100% into that ass. Hell you even flirted with Ivan at the party, and he smiled back.”

“Whoa, I did?”

“Okay you are hopeless, but yes.”

“Wait… do you have a crush on me too, Nino?”

“Dawg don't make me admit that on the spot.”

“I can't believe everyone thinks I'm that hot!”

“Bro, you're hot of cours,e but ever since you extracted Chloe’s claws from your pristine cocoa butter skin we realized you're not some dumbass spoiled prissy rich kid, you’re a dorky chump like anyone else and your job sucks. You're like, the second nicest person anyone has ever met, after Rose.”

High praise. “Wait do you think Rose and Juleka have a crush on me? Aren't they…?”

“Juleka can probably appreciate the divine geometry of your dingus or whatever, and Rose is into everyone, so… yeah probably. But I didn't come here to kiss your ass about how much everyone wants your boymeat.” Under his breath, he added “Well, maybe a little…” before returning to the topic at hand. “No no, I'm here to have story time about Adrien’s Big Night. Spill.”

 _Spill my SEED more like,_ thought Adrien. _I feel so bad about those pants…_

But there was a story to be conveyed.

Nino listened, rapt, spurring Adrien into further details with timely nods of encouragement. Adrien, for his part, found that sharing (or over-sharing) wasn’t as traumatic as his emotionally stunted childhood had led him to believe; was this the fabled camaraderie between young men he had heard of? He found himself sharing the course of events with Nino, from the body-shots to the antics in Marinette’s bed, to the hand-holding incident and impromptu acrobatics in Ivan’s shirt during brunch.

“Bro remind me not to let you borrow any of my pants.”

“What? Come on dude!”

“Yeah cum on, that’s the problem.”

“Nino, jeez, look, I had limited options.”

“Sorry man! Alya made me promise to use that joke. She used it on Marinette and made her turn bright red. It was great, so I hear.”

Adrien sighed. “One of these days, I swear, we’re going to stop being so hugely embarrassed at everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” said Nino. “Y’all two are kind of a mess. A cute mess, but a mess. Wait, more of a hot mess, I suppose. Every sense of the word.”

“... Thanks?”

“Welcome. Y’all are going to make a good couple.”

“Wha? Whoa! Nino! Getting a little ahead of yourself, right?”

Nino peeped him sidelong under the brim of his hat. “Isn’t that what you’re kinda going for here?”

Adrien blushed. It had barely been two days since the party, where he had _romantically encountered_ Marinette, and when Ladybug had told him to pursue her, more or less. A pretty fundamental change in how he viewed himself: newly available to _be_ part of a couple.

“W-well, I mean, yeah. Yeah! Marinette’s really great, it’s just… I’m kind of new to all this.”

Nino kicked his shin lightly. “Some day, pretty boy, you’re not going to be able to use that excuse anymore. Hopefully Marinette and everyone will get you to finally _foutu_ stop being so fresh-and-tender _new_ about everything. Get a nice jaded crust on that innocent whole-wheat boule.” Nino winked. “Bakery metaphors. Use ‘em on Marinette.”

 _Well, maybe Marinette likes them more than Ladybug?_ thought Adrien. _Can’t hurt to try._

“I--sure. I mean, I clearly need any help I can get.”

Nino whistled. “Wow, you ain’t kidding. You didn’t even kiss.”

“Don’t rub it in, dude! Sinister forces were obviously at work upon us!”

“You should probably definitely try kissing, Adrien. It’s pretty great.”

“That’s what I hear! It sounds real good!”

“Yeah. Kissing feels really nice.” Nino tilted his head to the door. Almost time to head to class. “Alright dude you seriously got messed up in terms of kissing, but otherwise your night sounds pretty great, so that’s good! Let’s get our handsome selves to class before our various ladies die from withdrawal.”

Adrien laughed and punched his arm. “Shut up, dude, come on. Marinette and I barely even started anything, we haven’t even had our first date yet, I’m sure she can live without me.”

Though Nino didn’t have Alya’s detailed familiarity with Marinette’s dramatic claims to the contrary, he was pretty sure that Adrien was underplaying his own importance at least a little. The least dramatic description one could possibly apply to Marinette’s feelings for Adrien would be _extremely fond_ , and that would only be from someone who had only heard of both of them in passing. Adrien, of course, had no idea what kind of effect he had on the girl besides the very up-close-and-personal ones he had witnessed over the weekend.

“Well, let’s not test that, just in case,” said Nino, clapping him on the shoulder. “Play it safe and give her a little sample of the Adrien magic, you know? You still have a date to go on.”

 

* * *

 

Alya had been hard to get a hold of the rest of the weekend, and Marinette had some Topics of Import she needed to discuss. Marinette had already set her pink bag upright on their shared desk, for a tiny bit of privacy, and as soon as Alya sat down, she found herself tugged sharply downwards for a little tete-a-tete with Marinette, right at the edge of the desk. Nino and Adrien, walking in shortly afterwards, were entirely blocked by the screen of her bookbag. She accosted Alya in an intent whisper.

“Alya! I had to touch a pastry full of Nino’s manly essence! What the hell!?”

Alya’s eyes bulged and she slapped a hand over her mouth in time to stifle an explosion of mirth. Her cheeks puffed out with suppressed laughter.

“This isn’t funny! I had a surprise NUTTella pastry to deal with!”

Her friends eyes were watering, twin rivulets working their ways down her face to dampen the fingers that she was pressing ever-tighter to her lips. Her whole body shuddered occasionally, trying to get a handle on Marinette’s fiery, grumpy outburst.

“How did you even get his cum in a pain au chocolat, Alya? How did that happen?”

“Girl, stop,” said Alya, from between clenched fingers. “If you’re any more scandalized I’m gonna die.”

Marinette’s face tried to scrunch up into a single point around her nose, and got most of the way there. She relaxed her grip on Alya’s shirt and, still hunched over face to face behind her bag, crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“I had to handle two distinct cumshots this weekend, Alya! Neither of which being ideal!”

“I’m sure Adrien will--”

“OF COURSE HE WILL AND IT WILL BE BEAUTIFUL AND SPECIAL!”

Alya lightly collapsed onto the bench, unable to hold herself upright. It was all she could do to hold back a tsunami of giggles at her friend; maintaining reasonable posture had to be sacrificed. She flapped her hands at Marinette, trying to calm her down enough for a recovery, and potentially an explanation.

“Chill, girl! I told you I wouldn’t leave a mess on your chaise! We’re friends, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“How did you even decide to jerk Nino off with a _foutu_ baked good? How is that a thought that you had?”

“We didn’t have anything else! It was close at hand!”

“What?!” Marinette sputtered. “How could you not have planned this out?” Marinette had always been a bit of a planner, even over-planner. When one is as absentminded as our heroine, it helps to have at least some small modicum of attention to the future, even if you forget about it. “Didn’t you have any, uh… anything?”

“It sneaks up on you sometimes! Ask any boy.”

“Aaa! I am not asking any boy if they just… get… snuck up on… with cum! Aaagh!”

“Look at least it didn’t get into your furniture, right?”

“How come you didn’t, I dunno… use your clothes or something?”

“Oh yeah, because nutt in pajamas doesn’t freak you out at alllll…”

“SHUT UP ALYA okay whatever!”

“We barely had any clothes on! There wasn’t anything to soak up a Nino load! You don’t want to get surprise jizz all over your threesome, you know.”

 _Okay good to know, but_ : “Why didn’t you just, I dunno… s-swallow it?” Even just asking the question made her blush furiously. _Wow, self--why is that the first thing you jumped to?_

Alya looked left and right, as if checking to make sure no one had intruded into their private conversation behind the desk. “Okay, look, I can give you a rundown later of everything that was going on under the blankets, but for right now let me just say that no one had a mouth in interception range, okay? Given how we were set up, it was kind of Alix’s decision to make.”

Marinette whipped her head around to look at the pink-haired jockette. Alix caught her eye and gave her a wink, and two finger guns. _Is everyone doing that now? What the hell_.

She turned her gaze back to Alya. “Okay but… but how… how did a pastry get involved with Nino’s junk? How did that ever… how… just… just how?”

Alya reached out to grab her friend by the shoulder. “Look all that matters is you’re down one pastry and your chaise is virginal and pure, more or less. Who cares about the mechanics of putting a pastry on someone’s baguette? We’re all friends.”

Marinette sighed and bumped her forehead into Alya’s, closing her eyes. “You’re right, we are friends. Friends who share intimate details with each other.” She bumped Alya’s head with her own, for emphasis. “Friends who give each other a _heads up_ when there is _unexpected cum_.”

Alya snickered. “Fine, you’re right, I’m sorry. We both had cum-related accidents this weekend, but you did way more than your fair share of the cleanup.”

 _You have no idea how true that is,_ thought Marinette. _Miraculous CleaningLady-bug!_

“I’ll make it up to you, sweet thing, don’t worry! Matter of fact, I got a good idea as to how.”

“What do you--”

“AHEM.”

Alya and Marinette looked over the rim of the bookbag at an incredulous Mlle. Bustier. Both gave awkward smiles and waved.

“If you two are _quite_ done with your conversation, I’m certain we can get started.”

The two girls nodded vigorously, once again model students. Marinette tried very hard to focus on the lecture, and ignore the glorious golden sun avatar in front of her.  Focusing on her tablet, she concentrated her whole being on the task of taking notes about the history of Candide something Voltaire something something Adrien something reading something something…

Marinette was woken by a sweet, soulful sound she’d been dying to hear since Saturday afternoon.

“Hey Alya, can I borrow your compact?” asked Adrien.

_...What?_

Still partly unconscious, the wood grain of the desk adding a stippled veneer to her face, Marinette heard Alya hand over her makeup to Adrien, and heard the compact snap open. _Weird_. Alya elbowed her into an upright position.

She was about to shoot a glare at her friend for the jab, but Alya was already pointing forward and to the right--Adrien’s spot. Marinette looked.

Adrien and Nino were sitting, facing the front of the classroom and nominally listening to the lecture. They had their bags up on their desk. And, hidden from Mme. Bustier’s view, Adrien had set up Alya’s compact so that the mirror faced Marinette.

In that mirror, she saw one perfect green eye meet her own, and wink.

 

* * *

 

In terms of helping to pass the time in a boring lecture, being able to gaze longingly into your paramour’s eyes was second to none. Through the remainder of class, Marinette was buoyed by a pair of green eyes that met hers through the reflection of a discrete mirror. Her time in class was often absorbed by staring at Adrien, but the sensation of him staring _back_ at her filled her with a giddy glee she had barely touched upon in flights of fantasy that Adrien might be _hers_ over the past months. Every glance she could steal at his face through the compact mirror was an opportunity to memorize those perfect features without being so _physically_ face-to-face. In the green depths of his eyes in the mirror, she catalogued details and minutia that no camera could ever capture in a thousand thousand magazine spreads.

She was almost developing a tolerance, an ability to handle the brilliant laser of his beauty, she figured, even after a single day of looking at his visage secondhand through the mirror. Of course, then he turned around and looked directly at her.

The rest of the students had shuffled on, collecting their bags and walking to their next class, while Marinette was propping her chin up on her hands, gazing lovingly at Adrien’s reflection. Adrien was grinning back at her, taking his time getting his stuff together. When he turned around, no longer safely behind a reflective pane of glass, she yelped and felt her arms slip from under her, dropping her chin to the desk.

“Marinette?” he asked her.

“Y-yes?” she replied, shaking herself and sitting bolt upright, face-to-face with the boy she’d been making googly-eye-contact with all day. _What a difference looking directly at someone can make,_ she thought.

“Could you give this compact back to Alya? I’ll bring my own tomorrow.” He held it out to her, snapped closed, beaming. “It was nice to be able to look at you in class today.”

“Y-yeah! Nice!” She took the compact from him, slipping it into her purse. “We should… look at… me. Again. Yes.”

In reply, he smiled back, blushing. “Have you… thought about that date?”

“Th-the date? We’re going to have? That one? Yes! I definitely have!”

“M-me too! Yeah.”

They stood there, grinning, blushing, for a little while, unsure of how to progress beyond a mere acknowledgement that a date would indeed be occurring. Each of them stifled a small giggle. Marinette inched her hand to the edge of the table. Adrien rested his own on top of it, starting a near-fatal cardiac arrhythmia. After shaking her head to sort out the other, less important, senses that had been overshadowed by the feeling of Adrien’s hand on hers, Marinette realized that Adrien was asking her something.

“So, there’s this little open air cafe by the Champs-Élysées I think you’d like. The bakery isn’t as good as yours, but they have really good coffee,” he said. _Ladybug and Chat Noir swear by it, I hear._

“Oh! Yeah! I think I know that place!” _Where Chat and I definitely did_ not _have a date_. “Y-yeah! Lets go there!”

“Okay! Great! I’m really going to look forward to it!”

Marinette nodded animatedly, beaming.

Haltingly, and with a number of pauses for wordless gazing into each others’ eyes, they settled on a time and a date. The delicate balancing act of fitting a date in between Adrien’s extracurriculars and Marinette’s need for enough time to adequately freak out and take a trip to the doctor required either a Tuesday or a Thursday, and for both of them, the next week was simply _too far_ _away_. So, Thursday after school it was. Enough time for Chinese, basketball, appointments, freaking out, and spending exactly too much time thinking about what to wear, for both of them.

Deftly avoiding Chloe, they held hands as they walked to the street.

 

* * *

 

ADRIEN: Hey Alya I’m thinking about throwing a party.

**ALYA: OMG yes**

**ALYA: I’m gonna freak out your place is great probably**

**ALYA: That’s what Nino said**

**ALYA: He was there once that’s why I know**

**ALYA: Not trying to make it weird**

ADRIEN: Uh…

**ALYA: So yeah great idea, how many people you want**

ADRIEN: I was actually asking about something a little bit… awkward to take care of.

**ALYA: ?**

ADRIEN: Yeah this is going to be kind of weird maybe

**ALYA: ??**

ADRIEN: … do you know how I can keep Chloe from showing up?

ADRIEN: I don’t really have any ideas.

ADRIEN: She’s my oldest friend, but… I kind want EVERYONE at the party to have fun, you know?

ADRIEN: This is still just in the planning stages and all but…

ADRIEN: I figured you’d know.

**ALYA: …**

ADRIEN: uh oh

**ALYA: I have been SAVING this**

**ALYA: Don’t worry buttercup I got u**

**ALYA: I was gonna save this to get Marinette out of a Situation so that y’all two could have a date**

**ALYA: BUT YOU DONE GONE AND SET UP A DATE REGARDLESS**

**ALYA: so I can use THIS instead**

ADRIEN: What is “this?”

**ALYA: you haven’t told anyone else about the party yet, right?**

ADRIEN: No, no, I’m still not sure… how to make everything work out.

**ALYA: Okay pick a date and I’ll deploy when you got it.**

ADRIEN: This Saturday?

**ALYA: Damn boy, party bug bit you good**

**ALYA: That can work. Yeah. Hell yeah.**

**ALYA: Think about what party games you wanna play**

**ALYA: Also wear layers**

ADRIEN: What?

ADRIEN: Oh, right.

ADRIEN: That makes sense.

**ALYA: Also kiss Marinette.**

**ALYA: Also treat her good or I will END you**

ADRIEN: 0_o

**ALYA: HA! For real though.**

ADRIEN: I’m gonna!

**ALYA: You better. Don’t make me get all u w0t m8 on your blonde ass**

**ALYA: Also thanks for helping me fact check Marinette’s story from the party**

**ALYA: OOOH LA LA**

ADRIEN: dammit

**ALYA: hahahahaa**

ADRIEN: I’m never going to live that down am I

**ALYA: Clearly not, flannelfucker**

**ALYA: Just ask Nino why he likes to fuck a pastry**

**ALYA: Trust me**

ADRIEN: What?

**ALYA: WINK**

 

* * *

 

It was Wednesday, and Marinette was fully freaked out.

Her date with Adrien was _tomorrow_ and he was a _beautiful_ sunflower, and apparently he was throwing a _party_ that Saturday and she was _invited_ and what if the date went _badly_ she would have to explode and _die_ and then couldn’t go to the _party_ and then her life would essentially be _over_ . Too many things were going on, too fast, and she desperately _needed_ to speak with Alya. As reckless as Alya could be when pursuing a story, she was far and away more stable than Marinette when it came to romance terrors.

Over their months of knowing each other, Alya and Marinette had developed what amounted to an open door policy. Alya was always welcome at Marinette’s, and Marinette was always welcome at Alya’s. Aside from a few close calls, she’d always managed to slip through her balcony window and transform back to ordinary-life Marinette right before Alya opened the trapdoor. She didn’t show up to Alya’s unannounced _that_ often, but it was a full freakout day. Exceptional circumstances abounded.

The normally bustling Cesaire household was quiet when Marinette arrived, slightly flushed from her prior hour of nervous pacing. Alya’s most recent post had her location tagged as home, so Marinette headed up.

Whereas Marinette’s home always smelled like the upstairs of a bakery--which is to say, perfect--Alya’s home served as a sort of test lab for Mme. Cesaire’s culinary experiments. Which is to say, almost always also perfect. Today, it smelled like a twist on some sort of jerk poultry recipe, maybe with breadfruit--something savory and Caribbean. A celebrity cooking show was flickering, muted, on the TV.

“Alya?” Marinette called, not seeing anyone around. From the upstairs, she could faintly hear something playing, but couldn’t place it. Alya was probably listening to something with the door closed.

She headed up the stairs, itching with the need to start _talking_ and to simply _panic_ with someone else there to help mop up the emotional spills. She barely took note of the throbbing beat of the music, let alone any other part of her surroundings. At the landing, she turned to Alya’s door, festooned with a glorious five-dotted Ladybug symbol. Smirking to herself, Marinette opened the door.

“Hey, Alya, I really need your--”

Marinette froze.

“Lady Wifi?!?”

She was reclining on Alya’s bed, wearing only the top half of her villain jumpsuit and her mask. She was biting her lower lip between her teeth, breathing hard through her nose. Skintight, dark purple spandex clung to her curves, outlining her in considerable detail. The villain’s legs were in the air, toes curled, and her arms were stretched out above her head, bound to the bedpost with a thin black rope ending in a red and black disc of some sort. Behind the black butterfly mask, Lady Wifi’s eyes sprung open at Marinette’s entrance, going wide with surprise. She gave a soft “mmph!”, muffled by the purple and white leggings partially stuffed into her mouth and tied around her head as a gag.

 _Lady Wifi! Has there been another akuma attack? Who captured her? Time to transform!_ Marinette reached her hand up to her earrings, and snapped open her purse, ready to release Tikki and deal with this most recent Papillon attack.  


But Lady Wifi wasn’t alone.

“Um…” said someone.

From between a pair of villainous legs, another figure knelt, face obscured by Lady Wifi’s wi-thigh. They were wearing a skin-tight red spandex suit _\--_

_Wait…_

\--With black spots--

_Wait a minute…_

\--Wearing a black domino mask--

 _WAIT A MINUTE_!

\--And had black hair pulled back into pigtails, tied with red ribbons.

_WAIT JUST A GODDAMN MINUTE!_

“Ladybug!?” said Marinette, extremely incredulous. Shock ran through her. She froze again, twice as frozen this time. _Is this Chronogirl’s doing again? Is that me? Is there a cloning akuma out there? Why am I between Lady Wifi’s legs?_

The pounding music was just beginning to resolve itself into something familiar--Daft Punk, maybe? Lady Wifi “mmmph!”ed repeatedly, wriggling, as the false-Ladybug slowly raised their head, groping blindly to the side for something. When the figure finally slipped them on, Marinette finally established a firm idea of what that something had actually been.

Nino’s glasses.

... _Oh._

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

A thrown pillow boffed its way into Marinette’s face, and she once again found herself suddenly on the floor. Apparently Ladybug--Ladynino? DJbug? Ninobug? La-DJ-bug?--had a pretty good throwing arm, even if the Miraculous Ladybug power didn’t exactly work in this instance.

The pieces began to assemble themselves as Marinette lay on the floor, blinking at Alya’s ceiling fan.

_Okay wait a minute, Lady Wifi has magenta eyes, and Alya has golden ones._

_Okay double wait, the akuma suit also doesn’t unzip at the little white belt, either. Pretty sure it’s all once piece, and also magical._

_Yeah and number three, her Wifi symbol on the chest is supposed to glow, and generally_ prevents _her from nippling through it._

_Quadruple wait a minute, Nino is definitely not Ladybug._

_I… may have witnessed a private moment…_

From the bed, Lady Wifi-- _Whoops, I mean Alya_ \--had managed to extract her mouth from the impromptu spandex gag.

“ _Foutu_ untie this yo-yo, Nino! Don’t throw stuff at Marinette!”

“I was trying to stay in character!”

“And good job but also untie me!”

The black pigtail wig fell off of Nino’s head as he rushed to untangle Alya’s hands from the bedpost. He was apologizing profusely, both to Alya and Marinette, as he extricated his girlfriend from her compromising position. From her vantage point of the floor, Marinette heard a number of statements to the effect of “look it might have worked when I said Miraculous Ladybug you don’t know” and “no we probably shouldn’t ask her to join in” and “yeah we can pick this up later.”

Marinette lay blinking on the floor, still processing the fact that she’d walked in on two of her best friends _in flagrante delicto_ with costumes she was _very familiar with_ from an _entirely different_ situation. What do you even say when your best friend is getting a very intimate kiss southside from her boyfriend, dressed as you? Oooh la la.

Unable to help herself, Marinette found her internal fantasies cheating on Adrien very slightly. Alya _did_ fill out that Lady Wifi costume very nicely… and Nino’s Ladybug suit showed off a surprisingly nice figure…

_No! Stop it, brain! Save your fantasies for the date! I’m only a ho for Adrien!_

_Well yeah but maybe you could_ also _be a ho for other people once you got Adrien nailed down…_

_Dammit brain, focus!_

_Alright I’ll focus on Alya’s thighs wrapped around Nino’s head as he--_

_Dammit!_

“Marinette?”

Trying to muffle her indiscriminate and highly active libido, Marinette started paying attention to reality again. Alya and Nino were leaning over her, masks pushed up onto their foreheads, glasses replaced. Marinette readied a heartfelt and sincere apology for intruding.

“Is… is that how you guys do it?!” _Oops._

“Hey don’t kinkshame us,” said Alya. She and Nino each grabbed one of Marinette’s hands and pulled her to a sitting position.

Which only put her face on a level with her friends’ junk-zones.

Nino, barely constrained by the spandex, had clearly been _really enjoying_ his activity between Alya’s thighs. _Damn_ , thought Marinette. _Daft Punk should be so lucky_.

Momentarily coming to grips with her small and diminishing sense of modesty, Marinette peeled her eyes away from Nino’s dudely tumescence, only for her eyes to rest on Alya, who--

“Did you shave your pubes to be a Wifi symbol?!?”

Alya had not seen fit to replace her spandex bottoms, and was currently displayed completely absent fabric below the waist. She had landscaped her bush into three gentle arcs ascending her pubic mound. Slightly below, there was ample evidence of what Nino had been doing down there. Marinette, who had been maintaining a pretty standard level of blush since opening the bedroom door, flared into a three-alarm facial blaze.

“Well yeah,” said Alya, as she finished hauling Marinette to her feet. “It goes with the theme.”

“How--how would--she wouldn’t--aaa!”

“Come on, girl!” Alya made an incredulous face, putting her hands on her hips. “You mean to tell me you’ve never thought about what akuma pubes would look like?”

“Definitely not!” replied Marinette, who hadn’t up until that moment, and now had no choice but to devote her entire mental capacity to the idea.

“Well whatever, I look great.”

“Totally, babe,” added Nino. Marinette snapped her eyes to him, realizing that he had not wiped his mouth off from his pearl diving exploits. Suddenly conscious of what she was looking at, Nino nervously licked his lips.

Which of course made it worse.

“Um… I… uh…” said Marinette, unsure exactly what to do, or where to put her eyes. Up, and she would look at Nino’s pussy-eating grin. Down, and she’d be peeping Alya’s wireless hotspot. Out of options, she slapped her hands over her eyes, nearly singeing her fingertips with the strength of her blush. In her own undies, she felt the stirrings of something she normally reserved only for thoughts of Adrien. _Damn you, libido_.

“I’m kinkshaming you! This is me shaming your kink!” she said from behind her hands, trying to deflect _that_ particular trainwreck.

“Hey whoa! I shame _your_ kink of walking in unannounced!” said Nino, doing his best to look indignant while sporting a boner. “Didn’t know I was going to have an audience, that’s a dick move.”

“Yeah should I like, put a sock on the doorknob or something?” asked Alya. “Like you’re always welcome, but… actually…” She glanced to the side at Nino, before returning her gaze to Marinette. “You know… we don’t _necessarily_ have to stop just because you showed up…”

Behind her hands, Marinette heard soft footsteps, and felt two gentle hands tug her own away from her face.

“So… you’ve got a date tomorrow… Do you wanna… practice?”

Marinette’s eyes shot open. Alya was standing very close to her, holding her wrists, wearing a sly little smile that promised that a very satisfying and stimulating practice session was just within reach. Marinette’s eyes became very, very wide, and her lip was caught between her teeth before she’d realized it. _Practice?_

She hadn’t given any thought, before, to her best friend in that particular way, but she’d also never stumbled in on her mid-cunnilingus with someone dressed as her magical alter ego. Her heart still belonged to Adrien, of course… but given the physical reactions she was experiencing, her body was a little bit more liberal in its affections.

Maybe…

“Nooooope, nope nope nope, let’s leave Marinette alone and let her have her date, okay?” Nino was pulling Alya gently away, back to the bed. “Marinette? Can you give us, like… twenty minutes?”

Alya sighed. “You’re right. Sorry! Later!” She draped herself back off the bed. “Hey girl, I’d love to help but can you, like, watch TV downstairs for a bit? We’re… kinda in the middle of a thing.”

Marinette’s irises were pinpoints and she was still blinking rapidly, face a panicked and powerful red. She nodded rapidly and backed out the door, closing it gently behind her, desperately trying to sort through the implications of Alya’s invitation.

And it didn’t help at all that there was a Gordon Ramsay marathon playing on the TV.

 

* * *

 

If nothing else, walking in on your friends hooking up in complex costumes is an excellent way to distract yourself from whatever you were freaking out about beforehand. Marinette turned up Kitchen Nightmares--which may have just helped Alya along, given her proclivities--and tried to remember what she was so worried about when she’d first showed up.

Something about… Adrien. Probably.

She made a mental list of all the things she’d been intending to freak out about with Alya, increasing the volume on Gordon Ramsay to drown out the increasingly loud sounds of amorous entanglement upstairs. _Let’s see… upcoming date, what do I wear, there’s that party this weekend, what if Chloe shows up, I just went on birth control… I think that’s about it._

_Wow. Really not that bad, now that watching my friends go down on each other shook up my world a little bit._

_…Dammit stop thinking about that, save it for Adrien_.

The sound of a door opening shook her out of her considerations, and in between Scottish-accented vituperations, she heard Nino’s nonchalant, nervous whistling coming down the stairs.

Unbidden, her head locked onto him, but he was wearing his regular clothing again--blue shirt, jeans, red cap. No superhero getup. No incriminating Alya-liquids on his face.

“WELP,” he said, headed to the door. “Nice to see you, Marinette! Hope you have a good girl talk!” He pointed two finger guns at her, as she stared back in silence for slightly too long. “... Uh, bye!”

“Yyyeah, bye! Bye Nino!” she managed to say, right as he was closing the front door. “Ha ha, yep!” _Smooth_.

“Alright girl, get up here! Bring a snack,” Alya called from her room.

Marinette grabbed two bananas from the kitchen counter, then had an all-too-clear mental image of what Alya eatnig a banana might suggest. She thought better of bringing bananas, and grabbed two peached. Halfway up the stairs, another mental image suggested that perhaps eating a peach was _also_ a bit too vivid, in a different gender kind of way.  Thinking better of peaches, too, she replaced them with apples and headed back up to Alya’s room. Much more cautiously this time.

“Um, are you decent?” she asked, peering past the doorjamb.

“Never. Fruit me.”

Marinette tossed her an apple and crossed halfway into the room. Alya was tucked under the covers, still wearing her Lady Wifi top, the mask pushed up on her forehead again. Her blood pressure looked to be at an all-time low.

_Where do I even sit? Is it weird to sit where someone just got laid?_

Alya took a bite of her apple and patted the bed next to her. Shrugging mentally, Marinette climbed in. _Hell, I guess I’ve been on lots of furniture that people have_ foutred _on. Only weird if you make it weird._

“So what’s up sweety? Getting cold feet before the date?”

“N-no! I just… I was freaking out about like six things but… I stumbled in on you two…” Marinette went back to blushing, unable to meet Alya’s eyes. “And now it’s, uh… seems less urgent.”

“I know what you mean,” said Alya, stretching. She slid down further on the bed, draping an arm across Marinette’s lap as she took another bite of apple. “Me getting eaten out always helps me stop worrying, too.”

Marinette looked down at her apple like she’d never seen fruit before. “I think I was planning to freak out a little bit? Cuz I’ve got this date with Adrien and I probably don’t know what to wear? And I just went on birth control and I’m excited and aaaa what might happen!?”

“Damn girl, gotta move fast. Can’t fault you planning ahead.”

“Thanks! J-just in case! For… the future! Yeah.” She paused, rubbing the back of her neck in an involuntary mirror of Adrien’s habit. “But seeing Nino dressed up as m--as Ladybug, and you as Lady Wifi… yeah. Distracting.”

“Hey, we know how to party.”

“Y-yeah, I can see that.”

“Can you blame me? Ladybug is totally hot, and I was a bangin’ akuma villain.”

Marinette shook her head to clear it, and started blinking. It was one thing to hear your friends admit that they found your superhero persona attractive, and quite _another_ for them to make that attraction part of their boudoir antics. Marinette had a suspicion that those costumes had seen some serious use before today, too.

“W-well, yeah, sure. Totally bangin’. But!” Marinette remembered a crucial issue. “Adrien is throwing a party this weekend! What about Chloe? She’s going to crash it for sure!”

“Oh Chloe?” said Alya. “Don’t worry about that. Adrien asked me if I had anything I could do, and I’ve been saving something up.”

“Really? You know how to make Chloe do anything worthwhile? What is it?” Marinette was surprised--the idea that any force could blunt Chloe’s obnoxiousness was new and exciting in the extreme. “How did you manage?”

“So, I maaaay have delivered a package to both Sabrina and Chloe, and that package _maaaay_ have included limited edition leather hardcovers of _Fifty Shades of Grey_ and _Kushiel’s Dart_ and _Story of O_ and it _maaaaay_ have included a letter that _heavily_ implied that they were gifts from a wealthy foreign member of the nobility. Possibly Prince Ali.”

Marinette blinked.

“I did some research. Turns out, “brat” is its own sexual identity, and can you possibly imagine a more perfect one? Plus, BDSM is very much a gear sport, and you know how much Chloe likes to brag about her _stuff_.” Alya smirked, pretending to check her nails. “I figure that oughta keep her busy for a few months.”

A subculture with fancy toys that no one else was old enough to legally obtain, but which enough money could acquire? Books about powerful, wealthy men seducing women? The implication that it will make her popular with royalty? A sexual _reason_ for Chloe to be _extremely Chloe_ at people!?

Alya was the perfect friend.

Marinette twirled around, heedless of Alya’s semi-nudity under the covers, and wrapped her in the tightest recorded embrace in modern history. As Alya “hurk”ed uncomfortable in the squeeze, Marinette unleashed a litany of thanks and praises directly into her ear.

“Alya! Oh my gosh! If she thinks--And she’ll make Sabrina--and it’s perfect! Oh my heck! Alya! You are perfect! I could kiss you!”

“Mmmph,” said Alya, gently extracting herself. “I’m down, don’t get me wrong, but you probably want to save that for Adrien, right?” Under her breath, adding: “But, you know, afterwards…”

Marinette wasn’t paying attention. “Aaaaa! It’s going to be so good! I’m not even worried about my date anymore! Adrien will be there and be perfect, and the date will be perfect and then there’ll be a party!” Marinette let a great whooshing breath out, and collapsed onto Alya, excited and happy and thoroughly _not_ freaked out at all anymore. Fully prepared--at least in this moment--to date the _foutre_ out of Adrien tomorrow after classes. To use _every available_ feminine wile to seduce Adrien’s lips _directly_ onto her lips. And chin. And neck. And collarbone. And lower… Marinette bit her lip, closed her eyes, and _anticipated_.

Alya took hold of her by the arms and pushed her up off the bed, grinning as Marinette’s glee rubbed off on her. “And if you thought Truth or Dare was a good time, just you wait to see what I’ve got planned for Adrien’s soiree.” She gave an entirely _devilish_ grin. “Wink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE: OH MY HECK, FANART! 
> 
> https://abadmeanman.tumblr.com/post/153630537981/keezybugaboo-i-couldnt-resist-and-this
> 
> Keezy is the best!
> 
> Next update should be Adrien and Marinette's date! I'll try to get it posted by July 14th...
> 
> ...BASTILLE DAY...
> 
> Comic reference: http://threewordphrase.com/hood.htm
> 
> My good chum Lachesism is importing his fic from ff to here! Be on the lookout for Keeping Arnold, coming soon to AO3. If you like Helga Pataki (and you should) fukkin read it. Current link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10366855/1/Keeping-Arnold-Or-How-to-Get-Disowned


	17. In Which We Celebrate Bastille Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a double-length chapter, our two heroes spend some quality time with themselves, and then with each other. A croquembouche is espied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: this chapter begins with sin, and ends with farce. And also a little sin.
> 
> I went wonky and wild with this chapter, and it probably should have been two. Get excited!
> 
> Also, my best bud Lachesism just ported the first chapter of their fic to AO3! It is sublime, and now comes with extremely excellent illustrations of Helga Pataki! Observe: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7331095/chapters/16652533.
> 
> Lachesism was extremely instrumental in getting me involved with fandom, writ large. If you're in the mood for a VERY DIFFERENT kind of story, and love Hey Arnold!, I cannot recommend anything more highly.
> 
> EDIT: OH NO I ALMOST FORGOT! The wonderful and kind keezybugaboo drew art inspired by the last chapter! Check it out here: http://keezybugaboo.tumblr.com/post/147031663779/keezybugaboo-i-couldnt-resist-and-this
> 
> I'm SO THRILLED she is SO GREAT!

_ Marinette wasn’t paying attention. “Aaaaa! It’s going to be so good! I’m not even worried about my date anymore! Adrien will be there and be perfect, and the date will be perfect and then there’ll be a party!” Marinette let a great whooshing breath out, and collapsed onto Alya, excited and happy and thoroughly  _ **_not_ ** _ freaked out at all anymore. Fully prepared--at least in this moment--to date the  _ **_foutre_ ** _ out of Adrien tomorrow after classes. To use  _ **_every available_ ** _ feminine wile to seduce Adrien’s lips  _ **_directly_ ** _ onto her lips. And chin. And neck. And collarbone. And lower… Marinette bit her lip, closed her eyes, and  _ **_anticipated_ ** _. _

_ Alya took hold of her by the arms and pushed her up off the bed, grinning as Marinette’s glee rubbed off on her. “And if you thought Truth or Dare was a good time, just you wait to see what I’ve got planned for Adrien’s soiree.” She gave an entirely  _ **_devilish_ ** _ grin. “Wink.” _

 

* * *

 

While Marinette was gushing to Alya and receiving expert advice on her date wardrobe, Adrien paced back and forth in his room, grilling a tiny floating black cat. 

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Plagg?”

“For the fifth time, I am certain it isn’t,” he replied, bobbing slightly to the side of Adrien’s pacing course. “But, I’m certain it will be very entertaining, so I think you should do it anyways.”

Adrien chewed on his knuckle, the standard hand-on-the-neck not working for his level of anxiety at this proposition. Even almost confessing his love for her on Valentine’s day hadn’t been this stressful. He briefly cursed Plagg’s stubborn refusal to act as moral support. “But what if she freaks out! I really need her to say yes!”

Plagg leaned back, mid-air, crossing his paw-nubs behind his croquet ball of a head. He made a dismissive sound, somewhere between a grunt and a purr, but more obnoxious. “You could always invite her, I suppose…”

Freezing in his tracks, Adrien felt his pulse speed up. Ladybug? At his party? The idea was appealing, but… 

...But too absurd to entertain. 

“It can’t happen, Plagg. She doesn’t want to know who we are! I respect that.” Plagg snickered. Another thought occurred to Adrien, which made his boxers (the front, at least) suddenly a little tighter. “Also it might be weird to have her there since, uh… everyone kind of has a crush on her, it turns out.”

“Well, she might like it…”

“Yeah but I dunno! Weird! What if Marinette, like… goes for Ladybug instead of me? I don’t mean to be selfish, but…”

“WOW,” said Plagg, eyes wide, blinking. “That’s a  _ really _ good point! Can’t have that happen, can you?” He pursed his lips, shaking his bulbous noggin. “Mmm, mm, mm, shame. Better hope Ladybug agrees.”

“Yeah! I’ll just… I don’t know… owe her, or something. Something that friends do, who are good friends.”

“Friends.”

“Yeah.”

Plagg floated over to perch on Adrien’s shoulder, crossing his nubbly arms in front of himself, raising a feline eyebrow. 

“And how, exactly, does Chat Noir, fanciful savior of Paris, know Adrien Agreste, neglected supermodel?”

…

_ Uh oh. _

Thoughts raced through Adrien’s brain as he fervently kicked himself for missing the obvious--a _ foutre _ -up so often a feature of his social life that he’d forgotten he could completely fumble in  _ other  _ areas. Obviously, he couldn’t confess that he was Chat Noir--that was explicitly not what Ladybug wanted! He couldn’t get someone else to pretend to be Chat Noir and publicly  _ meet _ him as Adrien, because then THEY might figure out that he was Chat Noir. What could he do? How?

Nothing clicked. No brilliant plan, sublime in its simplicity, presented itself. No masterful solution, the resolving reagent of his hours of planning and hoping, had appeared. He was out of ideas.

He collapsed onto the sofa, morose. Somber. He would let everyone down--everyone he’d invited to his party, every hope he’d had and promise he’d made to himself, gone, because he couldn’t find out a way to  _ get away with it _ . Marinette’s party had been  _ sublime _ , and he wanted so badly to have his friends over and have that  _ fun _ again. But no party, no matter how excellent, could beat out the very real threat of being permanently grounded, home-schooled, and isolated again. Just another rich boy with absent parents and a mansion who--

Wait a minute. Rich boy. Absent parents. Mansion. Superhero.

Batman.

The Bat Signal.

...

... _ The Chat Signal _ . 

Driven by a frenzied need to actually have a social calendar, Adrien’s project took mere  _ moments _ . As destructive as he was with Cataclysm, he could be surprisingly crafty as a civilian. Some black and green markers, lightweight curtains over the windows, and a projector he’d had in the back of a closet turned into a workable Chat Signal so fast it could almost rival Ladybug’s antics with a Lucky Charm. He was no Marinette, but his doodle of a black cat’s paw outlined in green on the projector’s lens cast a perfect Chat Noir image on the translucent curtains of his floor-to-ceiling windows. 

Complete plausible deniability. Why, Chat Noir’s patrols likely took him around this area, and he would of course spot an illuminated cat’s paw on a big set of windows, right? Entirely feasible that one Adrien Agreste, fashion scion, would be able to reach out to one Chat Noir, superhero, for a little party fun time help. Chat Noir, being the gentlemanly wingman and amiable libertine he is, would obviously help a fellow by disrupting his security system with magical destructive power. 

The  _ perfect crime _ . 

Plagg hung in the air, incredulous and a little stunned at what an actually motivated Adrien was capable of. His luminous green eyes blinked and blinked again, taken aback by Adrien’s manic construction montage. The smirking anticipation of his boy’s plans melting into radioactive goop like so many poorly-planned science fair projects receded slightly. If he needed an explanation, here it was.

Now if only Adrien could manage to convince Ladybug…

Just as Plagg was opening his mouth to say something snarky and cutting, Adrien checked the time.

“We’ve got patrol! Okay. I can do this. This plan will work. I believe in me! Plagg, transformer-moi!”

 

* * *

 

“How did you even get those three arcs so even? I was really impressed.”

“You really just have to take your time, and get good with a mirror. Short strokes, use a new razor to do the broad shapes, then pluck to smooth out the curve.”

“Oh my god! That sounds terrible!”

“Small price to pay for a pristine Wi-Fi hotspot. You should have seen Nino’s face, seriously!”

Marinette turned her blush up from a simmer to a low boil. “Stay connected, I guess.”

Alya cackled. “Hell yeah, girl! That’s the spirit. Feminine wiles on as many levels as possible. Gotta keep ‘em on their toes.”

Marinette relaxed against Alya’s headboard, barely even conscious of the fact that it had, quite recently, had a costumed, half-nude Alya tied to it. She chucked her apple core into a waiting trash can and rested her head on Alya’s shoulder, still clad in her skin-tight Lady Wifi top. Her initial panics at the prospect of The Big Date tomorrow had been jolted into submission by walking in on Alya and Nino being  _ very _ French, in a romance way, and then doubly lessened by Alya’s comforting banter about how great she was going to look, and how sweet Adrien would be, and how confident she should be. As a wingwoman, Alya was second to none.

In fact, her various skills and talents could even be a little… intimidating.

_...Oh no _ . 

It was back. The anxiety, the worry, the feeling of insecurity and the vertiginous swooning right before you tip back all the way in your favorite chair. 

“Oh my god Alya… what do I do? Do I shave? Trim? Go  _ au naturel _ ? Should I do a pattern? Aaaa! What would Adrien want!?” She curled in on herself, teeth instinctively seeking her fingernails. 

“Whoa! What? Slow down!”

“What if I don’t have classy enough pubes, Alya? What happens then!?!?”

“Babe.” Alya grabbed Marinette’s face, squishing her laterally and turning her head towards herself. “Girl. Table your freakout about the pubes. Repeat after me: ‘it’s just coffee.’”

“It’s just coffee,” Marinette repeated dutifully.

“‘It will be fine.’”

“It will be fine.”

“I don’t need to worry about my pubic hair.”

“But what if the date goes  _ really well  _ and he takes me to the bridal suite of a fancy hotel and undresses me with his teeth and there are candles everywhere and he ordered a croquembouche and--”

Alya shook her friend’s face, gently at first, increasing in violence as she continued to ramble. “Marinette. Sweety. Settle.” She bonked her forehead against Marinette’s for emphasis. “Adrien doesn’t even step on  _ spiders _ , he sweeps them onto pieces of paper and lets them free outside. He’s a professional model. That combination  _ guarantees _ that he is not going to be an asshole about your lady thicket, no matter how you landscape. Just do whatever!” She released Marinette’s face, leaning back into the corner. “He’s gonna be a perfect gentleman, or me and Nino will make sure he can only ever model for ‘Gentlemen’s Full Face Masks Monthly,’  _ capisce _ ?”

“But--”

“And if you  _ do _ by some quirk of fate lose your pants in front of him, I guaran _ tee _ he will be too thrilled that he gets to see you southside to do anything but  _ drool _ . Seriously, that’s what Nino did and Adrien is like, half as socially competent.”

“But...huh. Huh.”

“Yeah. See? Trust St. Alya, patron of horny teenagers who don’t realize how lucky they are.”

With a smile, Marinette sighed and draped herself over Alya, looking up through her bangs at her friend. “Lucky to have a friend like you, maybe.”

“Aww, shucks.”

“Seriously! You’re so good at calming me down when I’m freaking out over anything! I could probably barely manage to--” She stopped, the buzzing of her phone jolting her from heartfelt thanks more surely than a glance of Adrien’s dudebulge would. 

_ My patrol alarm! How did it get so late? _

“Aaaa! Alya! I have to go--home! Yeah! Sorry, totally forgot I had a… thing. Family! Mom,” said Marinette, smoothly. “Thank you so much!” 

She flipped around and latched onto Alya with a powerful hug, squeezing a huff of breath out of her friend and knocking her glasses askew. Nestled between Alya’s ladywise roundnesses, she lightly burrowed her face into the redhead’s chest and hummed her thanks. Alya caught her breath, chuckling, and embraced Marinette back, patting her head and adjusting her pigtails into evenness. 

With a hurried “You’re the best!”, the little seamstress dashed out the door, leaving Alya half-naked under the covers, and with a pair of tits recently warmed by a Marinette face. Smiling to herself, Alya pulled her lower lip between her teeth and ran one of her hands up the spandex of her costume to her  _ teton _ , and the other under the blanket. She’d been interrupted earlier, of course, and Nino had to leave before she could propose round two. A lady had needs--a Lady Wifi had more. 

Closing her eyes, she imagined a very different ending to Marinette walking in on her.

 

* * *

 

Ladybug was already at their meeting point by the time Chat arrived. Months of dynamic duo-ing, months of patrols, and she somehow always managed to beat him to meetups--the more responsible of the two, perhaps. Chat slunk up the side of the building, skipping the pole for the moment. He didn’t even try to sneak up and spook her; he had a favor to ask.

Sharing a grin before they raced, and a mutual wink at the last time they’d seen each other--hung over in the Champs-Elysees battling an obnoxious millennial stereotype--they were off.

The exhilaration of their patrols was like nothing else. Fencing, basketball, even the frantic melee of akuma battles were unlike the free, acrobatic  _ art  _ of patrol, seeing as much of the city as possible, from as many angles, righting various wrongs around Paris, sniffing out hints of akuma activity. They patrolled weekly or more often if they could, choosing a new route each night, sometimes Chat leading, sometimes Ladybug, for a brief few hours entirely focused on the city,  _ their _ city. 

And if Chat Noir was maybe also a little focused on Ladybug’s legs as she raced and sprang across the rooftops, well… everyone gets a celebrity freebie. 

Whenever they completed their circuit, they would part with little conversation, tired from hours of exertion, even with their miraculous-aided stamina. They might not have known each others’ alter egos, but homework was still homework, no matter how thousands of years old your kwami or heroic identity. But tonight, Chat needed to talk.

“My Lady! Before you go…”

Ladybug turned around, one leg propped up on the brick rim of the building. She was silhouetted against the moon, the Eiffel Tower glinting to her left. A prime tableau.

“I have… kind of a weird request.”

“Weird? The great Chat Noir? How absurd!”

“Slander! My reasons exist, and make sense... for the most part. But this query will  _ certainly _ sweep you from your feet.” Even with a favor to ask, Chat could never avoid at least a  _ little _ drama. 

“Okay,  _ minou _ , let’s hear it.” Ladybug crossed her arms and leaned against the building’s ledge, curious eyes focused on him. Their weight made him suddenly self-conscious about his request. Not that common an occurence, in costume. 

“I’ve… got this friend. He’s throwing a party. I know, I was just at a party this weekend! It’s… uh… not for me. He’s got a great  _ place _ for the party, but… uh… his dad, he’s kind of… strict. So he can’t really get caught, you know?”

“Ooooo...kay? I see what you mean, Chat. But so where do I come in?”

“So, uh… the Ladybug power. It’s pretty… powerful. Right?”

Ladybug just looked at him. Blink blink. “...Yeah?”

“It can fix lots of stuff, like… stuff you do. Or I do.”

Ladybug kept her eyes on his, her brow furrowing as he stumbled over his words. This wasn’t going at all like he’d wanted it to.

“So like, let’s say you had a  _ really good _ time at a party and you want to… help someone.”

“Chat what the hell are you getting at? Did you… did you do something?”

“I didn’t do anything! Much! Look… okay I promised this… guy I know. That I’d help him throw a party. His place is fancy, but it’s got this… security system.”

“Where are you going with this? No offense, but how can a teen superhero help throw a party for a civilian?”

Chat rubbed the back of his neck, then caught himself and dragged his hand to his shoulder instead.  _ Little too close to my nervous gestures as Adrien _ , he thought.  _ Better cool it on the neck stuff. _

“So Cataclysm, right?”

Ladybug gaped.

“YOU WANT TO DESTROY HIS HOUSE?”

“What!? No! Remember Animan? Or Princess Fragrance? Cataclysm can just make electronics go wonky! Totally safe! House fine!”

“Chat! That is extremely irresponsible! I don’t think we should be using our powers for this kind of thing!” 

Chat hung his head. He’d expected something like this.

“I mean, come on, Chat. We’re supposed to protect Paris! Do good stuff! Stop crimes, stop akumas! Save the city! We can’t do that if we go around abusing our powers at every--” 

“But his dad would never let him stay in school if he had a party!”

“Wait--wouldn’t let him stay?”

“Its for this kid--”

“Chat,” she sighed. “We can’t fall into a trap of using our powers for personal convenience. We’re supposed to be an inspiration to the people of this city. Their defenders, their protectors. How can we be that for them if we’re abusing our miraculouses?”

Chat Noir sighed. She was right. This was never going to work. Now he’d have to either call it off, or suck up the reality that he’d be pulled out of school immediately, locked away in his room, only let out for modeling and Chinese. He shook his head.

“You’re right. It was a bad idea--I mean, I should have never said I--uh, never told Adrien I’d do it.”

“Wait--”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought it up. That’s not what our kwamis would want.”

“Did you say Adrien?”

“I’ll just tell him that--”

In a blink, Ladybug had pushed him up against the wall, hands tight on his shoulders, staring him in the eye.

“DID YOU SAY ADRIEN? ADRIEN AGRESTE?”

“Uh…” Chat Noir blinked.  _ Where did this come from? _ “Yeah. I-it’s Adrien Agreste. The… guy… I know.”

“Okay. Yeah. Now? Does it need to be now? This weekend, right? I’m free whenever. We can do it whenever. It’s fine! I mean hey, we’re still teens right? Can’t be superheroes all the time!” She pulled back from him, talking fast, pacing back and forth, hand on her chin. “I’m free Sunday morning, we can do it then, sure! Ha ha just assuming that the party would be on the weekend, just guessed that right now, of course! Yeah so that’s fine! That’s good! Sure!”

“You, uh…”

“I’ll even stop by and say hey, hope you had a good party! Boy, sure is nice seeing your ads, great job! Yeah, that’d be fine right? I can do that whenever. I could come back. We could go now, actually, you know? Just to make sure it’s cool. He’s free tonight.”

“Wait, what? How do you--”

“NOT LIKE I WOULD KNOW THAT I mean he just seems like he’d probably be… homework! Doing homework. Studious. Yeah, that’s Adrien. Ha ha ha ha! From what little I know, I mean!”

“Ladybug, you--”

“SO YEAH! Forget what I said earlier! Ha, what even was that? I must still be drunk from the weekend, yep!”

“It’s Wednesday--”

“And I can just swiiiiing by Sunday morning and fix everything up! You can just Cataclysm the security system whenever! Don’t even worry about it! That’s fine, everything’s fine! Well, great! This went well! What a good patrol, am I right?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess--”

“Great! Hey!” She winked, pointing two finger guns at Chat. “Have a great date! Get you a kiss.”

“Uh, thanks?” And she was off. “You too?”

_ Huh _ , thought Chat Noir.  _ That went… well. _

 

* * *

 

Ladybug raced back to her room after patrol, eager to get out of her costume and be Marinette for a very specific reason related to a less-miraculous-than-normal  _ bijou _ . 

Her entire body felt electric, tingling sparkles glittering along every nerve, crashing into a nervous rush with every leap and swing back home. She was going to be  _ instrumental _ in helping Adrien’s party work for him. He had somehow contacted Chat Noir and asked him to disable the security system on the Agreste mansion, leaving it available for an entire  _ evening _ of festivities with Adrien. If this worked--and the Miraculous Ladybug always worked--Adrien’s magnificent chateau could become ground zero for both the social life of the school  _ and _ Marinette’s future Adrien-seduction plans. 

Not to mention Ladybug’s plans to do the very same.

It was that latter thought that filled Marinette’s mind as her transformation dissolved around her and she melted onto her bed, panting with something entirely unrelated to physical exertion, and sharing a look with Tikki that was becoming entirely too familiar to the little kwami. A look that said “Five a day isn’t always enough.”

Tikki barely even rolled her eyes at Marinette’s insatiability, as she flitted off downstairs to the pantry. Even before she had phased through the trapdoor, Marinette had already rolled over, muffling her mouth with the well-chewed end of her tiger pillow, hand sliding down her pants to put action to thought. Twisting a nipple with one hand, a writhing line of heat shot through her core, tracing its way across her chest, up the back of her neck to crest against her scalp, and down to the crux of her legs to ignite a deeper and more intimate fire. 

Her mind raced with possibilities. Using the Miraculous Ladybug power to fix Adrien’s security system, keeping his father none the wiser, smiling slyly at a grateful Adrien behind her black mask. Complimenting his habit of showering all the time. Asking if he needs company.  _ Joining  _ him. Finding out just how waterproof the Ladybug suit was. 

Mentioning to him how just  _ everyone _ had a celebrity freebie, and hey what’s yours. Mentioning that if she had to think of a celebrity, it would be this one boy she’d seen on billboards and in magazines here and there. Mentioning that she hadn’t used her Lucky Charm yet. Mentioning that she could stay. 

The weekend’s activities, too, gave her plenty of inspiration, plenty of information. Even the awkwardness of the hand-holding fiasco gave her an  _ excellent _ idea of what she would feel if she stepped forward in her superhero guise and gave him a playful  _ squeeze _ . 

_ …When I’m Marinette, I have to remember to make it  _ very  _ clear to Adrien that it’s  _ perfectly  _ fine for him to hook up with Ladybug. Completely clear. Perfectly clear. Celebrity crushes are free, after all. Everyone knows that. _

_ Communication! _

Communication being very important, Marinette began communicating directly into her pillow in a low mumble that might have been something like. “Oh yes, Adrien, if you eeeeeever manage to get together with Ladybug just remember exaaaactly what you do and tell me later, pleeeeease…”

She recalled the heat she’d felt radiating off of him in rippling throbs pressed firmly against her lips, his paper-thin self-control doing nothing to stop the steady pulse of his hardness against her. She just  _ knew _ that she’d left a little spot of slick wetness on him, but hadn’t had the nerve to check. Floating through those memories, she traced the outline of her nipple with one hand, memorizing the braille of its little bumps for the millionth time, as her other hand slid tenderly between slick folds. 

Being a busy bug, of course, the hand didn’t stay tender for long.

Marinette rolled the pad of her fingers over her tight little bead, curling back and forth over the hood, finding her rhythm. Relishing the thoughts of Adrien’s hands all over her, his long fingers taking the place of her own, while she bent over to hold the weight of his  _ entire pepper _ in her hand. Feeling him grow with her deliberate, determined stroking, rather than the accidental and frantic squeeze beneath Ivan’s shirt. 

Remembering with crystal clarity the look in his eyes and the panting of his breath that accompanied his one-two-three-four release into her pajama pants. Which, she remembered bittersweetly, weren’t  _ nearly on her body enough _ at the time.

The thought of visiting him as Ladybug came to her again, “extracting” a few quick touches from him in payment for using her Miraculous Ladybug power for his party. Not that she’d  _ force _ him, but not that he’d mind.

Her fantasy hit a tiny sour note as her fingers kept up their busy work. It wouldn't do. It wouldn't do at all, of course, to  _ entirely  _ seduce Adrien as Ladybug. The suit might leave little enough to the imagination, but it was very,  _ very _ sturdy, and didn't have anything resembling a zipper. 

Then again… straddling Adrien after brunch had gotten her ever-so-close, and there had been plenty of layers between them at the time… 

Her breathing increased and she twisted her  _ tetine  _ hard, right to the blurry border between too-pleasurable and almost-painful, as her other hand adjusted itself to more directly polish her bijou. Thoughts of riding Adrien while wearing her spots, seeing him writhing under her, finally getting to  _ watch _ what his body did, because of her, as she straddled his length and  _ rode _ . Grinding a release from him. Turning his whole  _ chest _ into last weekend’s pajama bottoms or a pain au chocolat or what-have-you.  

And later, coming onto Adrien as Marinette, asking him if anything was wrong… She could see his blush already, smiling into her pillow as she imagined holding him close, assuring him that it was fine, that she wasn’t mad. As long as he’d tell her what they did, at least...

Maybe have a little fun with it.

“Mmmm you naughty boy, going behind my back with Ladybug… Guess I'll just have to punish you…”

Marinette rocked her hips onto her fingers, back and forth, building pressure for an intense, vivid release. In her thoughts, she tied Adrien’s wrists to her bed, straddling his hips and grinding the crotch of her panties against the growing bulge she felt on him. Having him admit to her what Ladybug--what  _ she _ \--had done with him, all while she was grinding herself off on him. Reaching her hand down to brace the bare length of his rod against her lips, through the thin fabric of her underthings...maybe not even that. Swaying up and down his length, slickening him entirely, until she could  _ watch _ his  _ noixx  _ spray across the tight purple and white spandex of his costume, dripping down into the three blonde arcs he had shaved into his pubic hair.

She crashed into an orgasm, bucking against her own hand, toes curling into the bedsheets and teeth leaving another mark in her oft-abused pillow. Rushing surges of  _ feeling _ swept through her, up and down from from her core, tickling a path to her toes and across her neck and back again. Muffled moans, sighs, groans erupted from her to be buried in the fluff of her bed, as her whole body vibrated for limitless instants.

When she returned to herself, she was still breathing hard, eyes closed, face pressed flat into the pillow. Her hand was slack, still in her panties, and her top was wadded up by her neck. That last scenario she’d visualized had really pushed her over the edge of--

...Wait a minute...

_ What the fuck is a tied-up Lady Wifi doing in my fantasy about Adrien!? _

 

* * *

 

It was Thursday, and Adrien was feeling pretty great. 

He could barely pretend to pay attention to Mlle. Bustier’s lecture. Ladybug had been surprisingly willing to help out with his party planning, at least after she’d gotten a fuller idea of what all was going on. With his Cataclysm, and Ladybug’s power, he would be able to throw what promised to be an  _ impressive  _ soiree, and  _ get away with it _ , his father none the wiser. He would finally, after years of yearning, finally get a touch of the romance and energy of all those teen comedies and animes he’d watched, and be  _ directly responsible _ for it. And there were only two days left. 

And he had a date tonight! After school, sparing a little time to change, he was going to get coffee with a _super cool_ girl who he had apparently _not_ _foutred_ everything up with, who had designed for his father’s brand, and who had been personally requested to do album art by _Jagged Stone_. And he had seen her boobies-- _tetons,_ whoops--and she had hit him in the _face_ with one, and she’d grabbed his _entire pickle_. And he’d watched her orgasm, and he’d cum in her pajama pants and Ladybug apparently didn’t even mind _at all_ and was super helpful with his civilian self, and he wondered if Ladybug would make a good wingman. Wingwoman. Wingbug.

And it had been almost a full week that he’d been setting up his little compact mirror so that he could look at Marinette throughout the day, subtly, and see her smiling down at him, catching a pair big blue eyes almost every time he peeked at the reflection. He and Marinette hadn’t had much time to chat or be alone during the week, but there was something just perfectly  _ nice _ about being able to see her, sitting behind him, every day. 

Even Chloe had been laid back, barely even showing off or bragging about the fancy new choker-style necklace she’d gotten. It was pretty neat, too--rounded gold curves hugging her throat, with a tiny heart-shaped lock linking the hinged sides. A little trinket like that, and she hadn’t even smirked when she’d caught Nath admiring it. Pretty odd, but kind of a nice change. From the corner of his eye, he could see her busily studying an expensive-looking leather-bound book in her lap. Very odd, indeed… for Chloe, at least.

Did that have anything to do with what Alya said? Probably nothing to worry about. 

He felt his phone vibrate.  _ Probably Nathalie doing her daily check-in.  _ He slipped his hand into his pocked, being sure to keep his eyes on Mlle. Bustier while he did so. Movement attracts the eye, and no movements are as obvious to a teacher as anything done by someone looking somewhere else. Keeping his eyes on the teacher, he glanced down at his screen as soon as her attention was diverted by Max asking some question about Dr. Pangloss. 

His hand was full of red cloth with black spots. 

Adrien felt his heartbeat speed to incredible levels, so loud in his own ears that he was certain everyone could hear the drumming tattoo of his pulse. He knew this cloth. Knew this garment. 

Marinette’s ladybug panties. 

He was hosting a party in his underwear baguette, and all of the blood in his body was invited.

Phone ignored, he shoved his hand back into his pocket and stood up straight, a substantial bulge knocking painfully against the desk as he did so. A soft, muffled “hey!” emerged from approximately waist-height.

“CAN I GO TO THE BATHROOM IT’S AN EMERGENCY THANK YOU, BE RIGHT BACK!”

In a blink, an Adrien-shaped void was all that existed where he had been standing. Student and teacher alike blinked at the speed of his disappearance, and Adrien was already across the hall, down the stairs, into the locker room, and shut tight into a bathroom stall. 

Only there, safe in four close walls, did he bring his hand back out of his pocket. Marinette’s bikini-cut, custom-tailored Ladybug panties unrolled from his too-tight grip, wrinkled from their stay in his pocket.  _ How did they even get here?! _

 

* * *

 

Under his erstwhile desk, Plagg and Tikki blinked at the spot where Adrien had been sitting. When he’d stood up, they had been floating upside down under the desk, arm wrestling--or potentially nub wrestling, given kwami anatomy. Adrien’s…  _ tumescence _ … had winged Plagg, sending him spinning to the side and allowing Tikki to slam his little kitty flipper onto the wood of the desk. 

“What was that?” asked Tikki, quietly, floating under the desk.

“Goddammit mother fucking son of a bitch shit,” replied Plagg, just as quietly but with considerably more emphasis.

“Whoa!” said Tikki. “Watch it, Plagg! Language! These impressionable French teens don’t need to be hearing English cusses!”

“That is the absolute late time Adrien gets away with slapping me with his dick. Never again.”

“Oh my.” Tikki was worried. “How often does that happen? And what even happened now?”

Plagg shook his head, glaring at Adrien’s empty seat. “He probably just found Marinette’s panties in his pants, finally. And this is the first time his todger’s knocked me upside the face, but that doesn’t mean I don’t constantly worry about it. I live in fear, Tikki. The boy spends almost as much time playing with himself as Marinette.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Okay, so I exaggerated.”

“But so he found the panties?! I have to tell Marinette, she’ll be thrilled! She was  _ very _ excited about how she planted them in his bag. They got into a pocket, somehow?”

“Tikki, take a moment to help me feel sorry for myself, okay? I just got hit by my miraculous holder’s dick. Be nice to me.”

“Rub some Camembert on it. I’m so happy! Marinette is going to go absolutely  _ mad _ when she finds out.”

“Ugh, you and your weird positive relationship with Ladybugs’ sexuality.” Plagg poked his nub into his mouth and mimed barfing. “Gross. You should really give making fun of her a try.”

“Maybe I will if you can ever beat me, shrimp.”

“Hey! Rude! Calling a cat a shrimp! The nerve. And the shrimp miraculous has been lost for years.”

“...I miss Scampp.” 

“Me too.”

Plagg sighed, coming to a decision about Adrien’s discovery. 

“Look Tikki, don't tell Marinette. Sure, she'd be thrilled, but what would she think if she heard it from you?”

“As opposed to what?”

“...Hearing it from Adrien.”

Tikki’s eyes grew wide, the pupils pinpoints in the center. “Plagg! Did you… are you being a good wingman for Adrien?”

“No! Shut up!”

“You are! You think that would make Marinette really excited to hear from him! You care!”

“You shut your kwami mouth!”

“Plagg you're such a good kwami! Adrien is lucky to have you.”

“Okay you take that the  _ foutre _ back,” said the little black cat, floating upside down, insolent. “I just think it would be… funny. That's all.”

“Well obviously! I can't wait to watch him admit it to her and then see them both apologize for a month!”

“Tikki! That was almost ungracious!”

“Well,” said the little ladybug, “I have been spending a lot of time around this sore loser I know…”

“Oh it is ON, Spots. Best two out of three?”

 

* * *

 

Back in the bathroom, Adrien’s phone buzzed again, and he briefly shook himself out of his startlement to look at it.

It was from the donor of the panties, herself.

**Marinette: Are you okay? You turned bright red and raced out of the room so fast.**

**Marinette: If you’re feeling sick, we can reschedule the date...**

_NOPE_ _can’t let that happen everything’s fine_. But how could he reply to her? He couldn’t admit what he’d found… could he?

Nino. Nino would know.

_ Need both hands to text. Have to… gotta… better hold these in my teeth. _

_ Adrien: NINO HELP _

_ Adrien: I FOUND MARINETTE’S PANTIES IN MY POCKET _

_ Adrien: WHAT DO I DO _

Thankfully, Nino was not a hugely attentive student. He replied back, fast.

**Nino: holy shit thats hilarious**

**Nino: are u gonna jerk off**

_ Adrien: NO! _

_ Adrien: ...Maybe. _

**Nino: hell yeahh dude nice take you a constitutional**

_ Adrien: I mean what do I say to her? She asked me if I was okay!  _

_ Adrien: I can’t tell her I found her panties and had to go hide a boner! _

**Nino: y not?**

**Nino: shell probably be super into that**

_ Adrien: BECAUSE THAT’S WEIRD _

The panties were clamped between his teeth, dangling in his peripheral vision as he typed. Adrien was making a concerted effort to breathe only through his mouth, but in the middle of texting, his concentration slipped, and he breathed in a hefty sniff of Marinette’s panties, hanging from his lips.

For a moment, he was more Hentai Kamen than Chat Noir. 

He couldn’t describe the scent if he needed to. It was very…  _ Marinette _ , but a way he couldn’t place. The panties had been in his pocket for a while, so presumably the original scent was somewhat diluted, but it still had a light perfume to it that immediately evoked memories of her staring into his eyes, touching herself under the sheets as he was releasing himself into her pajamas. It had a richness and a feminine aroma he’d never encountered before.

In his pants, he could feel his own pulse beating against his zipper. A very specific body part had to  _ escape _ .

Reaching down with one hand, he texted Nino back with the other.

_ Adrien: Okya jst dont tell Marinette or Alya pleas _

_ Adrien: Or anoyne esel for taht matter _

**Nino: hahaha dude your typing got so much worse**

**Nino: your doin it right now arent you**

_ Adrien: no shutup _

_ Adrien: jsut dont tell ok? _

**Nino: sure man,** **_freres_ ** **before young women we respect and admire and whose sex lives we would never judge**

_ Adrien: wat? _

**Nino: english phrase that sucks and doesn’t translate dont worry about it**

**Nino: take your time ill get the notes for you**

**Nino: just tell Marinette you’re okay and dates still on**

**Nino: then tell her what u were actually doing on your date**

**Nino: get you some tongue action**

_ Adrien: … you’re my best friend _

**Nino: foutu right i am**

Adrien stowed his phone back into his pocket and snatched the panties out of his mouth. He held the rumpled cloth in front of his face, right hand firmly ensconced on his other extendable baton. For a moment, he didn't breathe, pondering the unequivocal sleaziness of what he was about to do. 

Sniffing a girl’s panties is one thing, sniffing a girl’s panties if she left them _ for you specifically to find _ is another. Jerking off is one thing, jerking off  _ at school _ is another. Jerking off at school to the scent of your classmate’s panties is a third,  _ much _ skeevier thing. Even pondering it--if short-stroking himself could really be considered only  _ pondering _ \--made Adrien feel uncomfortably like the protagonist of an awful harem anime.  _ I should definitely not do this, _ he thought, doing it. 

He had chosen the stall closest to the end, and pressed his forehead against the bricks, bending over himself as his hand got to work. He felt his head slip out of his foreskin and his senses concentrate into a spiderweb of nerves coalescing at the base of his shaft, and spiraling up the entirety of his length. As his fingers moved up and down himself, little feathery gasps burst past his lips whenever he brushed his frenum. 

Shaking his head at himself, he raised the balled-up ladybug panties to his nose and breathed in the scent of Marinette. With his other hand, he paused his personal ministrations and licked his first two fingers, getting a little extra slickness to help him along. 

The act reminded him of a very  _ different _ but  _ much _ more interesting slickness, the results of which had was currently pressing against his nose, and which he had felt pressed against his length, when Marinette had catapulted on top of him. His heart rate, already an unusual speed, doubled. 

Marinette smelled  _ good _ .

_ Uh oh…  _

Adrien returned the panties to his mouth, keeping his stroking confined to the base of his meat monument, and pulled out his phone. One-handed, he opened up Marinette’s text.

**Marinette: Are you okay? You turned bright red and raced out of the room so fast.**

**Marinette: If you’re feeling sick, we can reschedule the date...**

_ Adrien: I’m fine! We’re still totally on for our date. _

_ Adrien: It’s… a little embarrassing. I’ll tell you about it tonight. _

_ Adrien: Just… keep an open mind? _

**Marinette: Of course!**

**Marinette: I’m glad you’re okay.**

**Marinette: Let me know if I can do anything to help, alright?**

_ Adrien: Oh you’re helping plenty _

**Marinette: ?**

_ Adrien: Wink _

_ Adrien: Please don’t judge me later, also. _

**Marinette: …**

**Marinette: Okay.**

**Marinette: I promise not to judge you**

_ Adrien: thank you! _

Breathing a sigh of relief, Adrien picked up his pace again, feeling a building pressure as he got closer and closer to that final perfect release. In the back of his mind, the gentlemanly parts of his personality were having unkind words with the rest of his personality. He  _ tried _ to comport himself nobly, honest! But a sudden, intense interest in a cute, talented classmate was simply too much to handle, at least in combination with finding the  _ sexiest possible present _ as a surprise in his pants.

In truth, Marinette had been responsible for an unanticipated volume of pants-surprises for Adrien.

Still pressed against the wall, Adrien kept stroking himself, sliding slick fingers over his glans and feeling his legs tremble with sensation as his grip moved up and down the hard length of his shaft. Through his whole body, momentum and energy felt like it was draining from every distal part of his form and coalescing into the base of his cock, needing  _ just a little bit more _ to unleash a powerful, bucking spasm-after-spasm-after-spasm. 

He was going to spend himself all over the Second Empire-era brickwork of the walls, and he could not be bothered to give even the tiniest  _ foutre voler _ . In that moment, face suffused by Marinette’s essence, eyes blinded by red-and-black panties, brain full of  _ extremely _ ungentlemanly fantasies, and sense of shame  _ aggressively pushed into a locker and poked with sticks and called a nerd _ , his only thought was how good he could make himself feel. And, shameful as it was to admit, how good it would feel for him and Marinette to continue where they’d stopped over the weekend. 

Panting to himself, he held Marinette’s unmentionables to his face, stroking his flesh harder and harder, almost reaching that critical point, wishing fervently that he could be staring straight into Marinette’s blue, blue eyes right as he finished. 

His phone buzzed. Marinette, again:

**Marinette: But I might make you kiss me, since I’m so nice.**

Adrien was a pervert in the moment, but a romantic at heart. The thought of kissing her--lips pressed against hers, feeling the softness of her skin against him--brought him to a peak. The thought of that kiss happening, but with  _ her _ hand taking the place of his own, pushed him  _ over _ that peak.

He almost lost his footing, knees buckling, breath gasping into his throat. Wracking him, wave after wave of pleasure pored through him, spiderweb lines of sensation racing down his shoulders, past his spine, through his pelvis and out the tip of of glans, glazing the brickwork with thick, white ropes dripping to the floor tiles. Unable to stop himself, Adrien kept sliding fingers across himself, shuddering with each pass of his fingers over slick-sticky creases at the base of his glans. He quivered and felt his legs and back shaking, mouth open and almost-drooling, as he milked the last reluctant spurts of pleasure out of himself. His pulse and breath thundered in his throat, and a high-pitched ringing was slowly being replaced with the actual sounds of the world as his hearing returned.

A moment was needed, to compose himself. He regained his breath after a minute, opening his eyes, then opening them wider as he witnessed his handiwork. 

He stuffed Marinette’s panties back into his pocket. As shameful as he felt, he knew he had other,  _ critical _ plans for that undergarment, and his situation drastically required some cleanup. 

Sighing at his own horny self, he texted a quick reply to Marinette.

**Marinette: But I might make you kiss me, since I’m so nice.**

_ Adrien: You won’t have to make me.  _

Smiling sheepishly to himself, he replaced his phone, stuffing the ladybug panties firmly further down, and ripped off a long length of toilet paper, turning to tidy up his handiwork.

Looking at the mess of  _ noixx  _ on his right hand and the thoroughly lacquered bricks, he turned back to the roll and tore off considerably more. 

 

* * *

 

It was Thursday, and Marinette was feeling pretty nervous. 

She was walking to her date with Adrien and had nothing  _ resembling  _ self-confidence. Hopefully, she told herself, she would be able to find some on the way. 

Alya had steadfastly refused to listen in on any form of wireless communication device, and the last thing she had typed was “Good luck! You'll be fine. Get it. Mmmmmmm.” While encouraging, in its way, Marinette couldn't help but feel slightly robbed of the opportunity to freak out to Alya more directly. 

_ No, darnit,  _ she thought.  _ I refuse to freak out about this anymore. Adrien has already seen me mostly naked and I put my boob on his face and we masturbated looking at each other so this is  _ only catch-up,  _ pretty much. No freaking out. None.  _

For what had to be the thirtieth time, Marinette smoothed out her skirt. She’d chosen her outfit with care--fluffy pink scarf, comfortable gray sweater with pink hearts, dark blue skirt over socks so tall they might as well be leggings. Internally warmed by thoughts of Adrien as she was, she didn’t need to dress against the chill, but fall clothes are agreed to be the cutest.

For easily the ninetieth time, she adjusted her oversized scarf around her neck, jostling Tikki in the process. 

“Still nervous, Marinette?”

“Of course I am! I'm going to either die or explode and die!”

“Please don't!”

“Okaaaaaayyyyyyy….” Marinette groaned, following it with an eeeeuuuugh. “It's not that I don't want to do this! I do! I want to date Adrien so hard it gives me bruises!”

Under the kwami-equivalent of her breath, Tikki couldn't resist a sidelong glance and comment of “...are you sure you're not giving those to yourself, little miss five times a day?”, but Marinette had continued. 

“B-but we still barely know each other and I'm so awkward and neither of us is naked and no one  _ else  _ is going to be naked and and--”

“Take a deep breath, Marinette! You’re Ladybug! Your secret weapon is that you know Adrien has a crush on you as Ladybug, and now as Marinette too! It's a double crush! Besides, you and Adrien already know each other way better than you think.”

“What do you mean?”

“HAHA I JUST MEAN um you’ve been going to the same school and you made that hat for him and you signed his Jagged Stone album and practiced video games and stuff like that! Yeah. That's what I meant.”

Marinette, unconvinced, fiddled with the fringe of her scarf before replying. “I don't know, Tikki. What if I… what if I'm, like,  _ too  _ familiar with him? About him? What if I mention something about his schedule that I shouldn't know!? Oh my  _ merde _ he’ll know I've been pretty much stalking him all year! Tikki I have to hide!”

Nestled in the folds of her scarf, Tikki gave an exasperated snort. One theoretical eyebrow quirked up, her expression incredulous. 

“First of all, you’re not going to do that, and second, he wouldn’t even notice it if you did. He’s a model. He’s got a  _ huge _ tolerance for getting stalked. It’s practically the whole job.”

“What?” Marinette blinked, surprise halting her panicked rambling. “I--I never thought of it like that. I guess people follow him around all the time, huh?”

“Yes! He’s a celebrity!”

“Huh,” she replied, uncertain. Would it truly be possible for even Marinette, who in her civilian life was the  _ foutre dans la merde _ queen, to somehow  _ avoid embarrassing herself _ on at least one axis? The idea was truly novel.

“So you think I can handle it?”

“I know you can, Marinette! Just try to be a little more precise when you hold hands!”

Marinette shrieked briefly and hid her face in a Tikki-free fold of her scarf. “Tikki! Aaaa! I can’t believe I’m being trolled by my own kwami!”

“If you think that’s bad, you should meet  _ Plagg _ .”

“What? Who’s Plagg?”

“HA HA WHAT hey look, it’s the cafe where you and Chat Noir had coffee! Welp, time to make myself scarce!”

“Wait, Tikki, come on! What did you say?”

Marinette walked forward, rooting around in her voluminous scarf for her suddenly-absent kwami, mumbling about “aphids on a mousetrap” and “stupid magic mysteries.” She had managed to loop two full wraps of the scarf around her face when she was halted by a sudden, unseen impact from the other side of pink cashmere. 

“Marinette?”

She flailed her arms in a mostly downward direction around her head until her face was free of fluffy knit fabrics. In front of her, a gleaming golden sun was shining, warming the cool autumn day to aggressively summery temperatures.

“A-Adrien! Hi! Hello!”

Coming from the other direction, Adrien had noticed Marinette walking towards him, becoming progressively more and more entangled by her own accessories. As she strode forward--a confident strut that Adrien didn’t feel like he was remotely capable of, at the time, or ever--he tried to grab her attention calling out to her. But his classmate was substantially distracted, a precious dolphin in the world’s pinkest tuna net. 

Her clip was quite impressive, and she appeared to have misjudged the distance to her final destination. Behind him, Adrien noticed a frail-seeming older man in a Hawaiian shirt, leaning on a cane, moving directly into Marinette’s path.

There was only one thing to do.

Adrien positioned himself directly in front of the cafe’s patio entrance, one foot behind, bracing himself with years of muscle and balance from fencing. Slightly adjusting his position, he held his arms loose and to the sides, ready to catch Marinette if she deflected wildly off of him. He held his chin up, out of the way--lest a startled hop clip him on the chompers. 

Properly braced, Marinette crashing into him wasn’t that big of a deal. He’d caught her before, stumbling down the stairs of their former Collége, or their current Lycée, or inexplicably collapsing when she’d turned around and noticed him-- _ Huh, there might be an explanation for that, now _ \--but she’d certainly been quite the comet to his Yucatan peninsula a number of times. Adept fencing posture, however, enabled him to absorb 50-odd kilos of high-velocity classmate with minimal collateral damage. As she bounced off of his chest, he caught her, preventing any unintentional careening.

To his right, the stooped old fellow lady passed, uninterrupted, his bright red floral shirt not seeming warm enough for the weather.

Adrien turned his attention down to the girl in his arms. 

“Are you okay? Sorry, you looked like you got bumped pretty good.”

“Uh, um… no! Oh no, no, I’m fine! Thank you for catching me!” She blinked up at him, rapidly. “I was just--I dropped a… bobby pin? Yeah! In my scarf. Whoops! Silly me! Ha ha! Yeah!” 

Adrien grinned at her. He still held her by the upper arms, her hands reaching up to cup his elbows. “Your scarf is really cute!” He tilted his head, regarding her accessory predicament. “Do you--want me to help you untangle it?”

“Oh! Thank you! I’d love for your help getting me out of what I’m wearing!”

…

“OH MY GOD NOT LIKE THAT!”

“I DIDNT MEAN I’D NEED TO TAKE ANYTHING OFF I--”

To the tune of ephemeral kwami giggles, the apologies continued, until eventually a plan was formed.

Holding one end of the scarf, Adrien pulled gently as Marinette rotated in place, loosening the grasping wool of the scarf around her neck. She kept one end loosely wrapped around her throat. Probably to keep it from falling down onto the street, he figured. No other reason. Definitely no other reason.

Once Marinette had successfully re-wrapped her shoulders with the fuzzy pink knitware, she turned to him, a smile splitting her lips as she saw him staring her up and down. She returned the gaze.

He was wearing sleek gray trousers and a gray-and-blue argyle sweater vest. Underneath, a light blue dress shirt and a dark green tie completed his ensemble, and he’d replaced his orange Chucks with Oxfords that looked exactly the right amount of preppy to be classic, but not annoying. 

He looked good.

Their eyes met, and for a long moment, they stood on the sidewalk looking at each other, both of them smiling a slightly giddy grin.

“Thanks for your help… I really don’t know how I get so clumsy.”

“It’s no problem! I’ve had way worse wardrobe malfunctions.”

Marinette beamed, as a moving truck pulled away from the curb behind Adrien. Over his shoulder, Marinette could see a Gabriel advertisement--it looked like their new line of form-fitting boxer briefs.

And Adrien had been modeling.

The potential implications of Adrien’s wardrobe malfunctions multiplied exponentially in Marinette’s imagination. In the ad, he was wearing a loose, unbuttoned white dress shirt, charcoal-gray Gabriel boxers, and nothing else. A two-piece wardrobe could only mean two types of wardrobe malfunctions.

Either his shirt had come off, or…

Marinette was suddenly bepinkened. 

To his credit, Adrien was as oblivious as he was pristine and flawless of character and form. He merely returned Marinette’s increasingly-awkward grin, ignoring the gunshot-loud pounding of her pulse. 

_ Have to say something have to talk can’t just stare can’t just think about Adrien’s-- _

“Well, you certainly know that I’ve had some bad wardrobe malfunctions, too.”

…

_ WHY!?!? _

While Marinette’s eyes got bigger and increasingly panicked the more she considered her clothing-related mishaps of the weekend, Adrien’s eyebrows climbed his forehead higher and higher. 

His thoughts were whisked immediately to the erection-sprinkled fiascos of the weekend. Waking up half -groping Marinette as she wiggled out of her bra. Catapulting himself over her as she accidentally used his hard-on for a fulcrum. Finding a very intimate part of her wardrobe in his pocket, earlier that day. Being…  _ extremely intimate _ with that same garment. 

Steam appeared to be coming out of his ears, and he clamped his lips together, looking side to side to appear as innocent as possible. He failed.

_ You know… maybe my wardrobe malfunctions aren’t so bad after all _ . 

He tried out some nervous laughter, which only sufficed to make him seem guiltier, and creepier.  _ At what point does it become germane to admit you jerked off to someone’s underwear? Is that a second date thing? _

_...Uh oh, I appear to be speaking _ .

“I’m so sorry I… sort of… malfunctioned your wardrobe this weekend.”

...

_ WHY?!?! _

_ Gotta backtrack! _

“I--uh--I mean--um--well--”

Marinette, who had partially retracted herself back into her scarf home like the world’s pinkest turtle, was quivering with a combination of repressed sexual frustration and acute, soul-drilling embarrassment.

“It’s fine! Seriously! Don’t worry. We, uh… both deal with clothing a lot.”

“Y-yeah, we do,” agreed Adrien.

“So it’s only natural that we’d… uh…  _ malfunction _ clothes more than other people.”

“Huh,” he said. “I… guess that’s true.” Tactfully, he ignored the fact that modeling and design do not typically involve ejaculating into your fabrics. 

“S-so, no biggie! J-just some stuff that happened! And was fine!”

“Yeah! Yeah. Totally fine.”

“And it sure was impressive how you got it to stick to the ceiling,” she added.

Marinette gasped, clapping her hand over her mouth. The  _ last _ thing she’d intended to do was bring that up--impressive though it was. Adrien winced, cringing at the indirect compliment to his virility. The thought behind Marinette’s statement was very flattering, of course, but he could  _ really _ have stood to demonstrate in a less  _ adhesive _ manner. 

“WHICH IS FINE!” she replied, “Which is not a problem at all! Nope, just kinda neat! Aaand we don’t have to talk about it!”

“I’m so, so sorry--I really should have helped clean it up and--”

“Adrien,” started Marinette. “Honestly, it’s okay.” She raised one of her hands to the crux of his throat and shoulder, feeling his collarbone under the soft wool of his sweater. “I--you know I--uh. Words. Bad.”

“Words bad. Yeah,” he agreed, articulately.

“Weekend good,” she continued, clearing her throat. “I mean, uh… this weekend was really great,” she continued.

Adrien nodded, hard. His blush, along with Marinette’s, was finally retreating, the farther they got from direct mentions of Adrien’s putty- _ noixx _ . “Really, really great.”

“Even if we were… kind of clumsy.” Marinette’s ears briefly flushed red, but she was gaining some form of control over them. She was slowly settling to a holding pattern of complexion--not pale, but not flushed. Just a baseline blush from Adrien  _ foutu _ Agreste being  _ right there _ . Basic blush.

“Yep. Clumsy. That’s the right term.” Adrien continued nodding, sliding his hand up Marinette’s slide, along her arm, coming to rest with his hand on hers on top of his collarbone. Marinette trembled under his touch, and he felt her fingers press into him.

“I only regret the clumsy parts. N-not the hot ones.” Marinette couldn’t meet his eyes as she spoke. But she inched forward, bringing them closer, only the width of their arms separating them from where they held hands on Adrien’s clavicle. 

“M-me, too,” said Adrien, swallowing a nervous lump in his throat. “A-and there were a l-lot of hot parts.”

Marinette raised her eyes again. 

“I’m so glad I asked you out.”

“Hey--I asked you out.” He said it with a smile. 

For a moment, again, they were just close enough, staring into each other’s eyes, lips curled into a pair of grins which could so quickly turn into something more intimate. Adrien tipped his head down to her.

“Ahem,” interrupted a voice.

The duo jumped, tearing their gazes and bodies and hands away from each other, startled by the appearance of a white-smocked waiter at the limits of their tunnel vision. The waiter had a small, precise moustache; given the last time she’d been at this cafe, the reasonableness of his facial hair came as quite a shock to Marinette. Looking around, she realized that she and Adrien were the closest entities resembling the Hipsteur’s handiwork--she in her substantial puffy scarf, and Adrien in his sweater vest. 

The thought threw a frisson of worry along Marinette’s spine, and she caught herself peering to the side, looking for an out-of-place secondhand crowdsourced DIY fixie co-op slash wheatgrass emporium, but there were only regular wheatgrass emporia. 

Blinking herself out of her momentary reverie--and again confident in the effectiveness of her Miraculous Ladybug power--Marinette focused on the waiter.

“Will it be just you two this afternoon, or will it be a threesome?”

Marinette choked on a half-breathed lungful of air, the garcon’s terminology bringing to mind a very specific memory of the weekend. One involving Nino, Alya, and Alix, as well as a less-than chaste chaise, and a  _ thoroughly _ disrespected pastry. 

To her left, Adrien was sharing that thought, albeit with fewer details--Nino was less of a sharer than Alya. His face followed Marinette’s to a luscious shade of red, trailing mere instants behind in the race to the blushing finish line. The waiter said nothing.

Adrien steeled himself, drawing up his understanding of gentlemanly conduct based on thousands of hours of anime and a lifetime of disapproving paternal glances. “Um,” he began, honorably, “j-just us two, for now.”

That “for now” had slipped out entirely without his consent. Thought following word, he found that he had an immense need to be seated at a table, or sling a messenger bag across his front, or otherwise conceal the fact that he was suddenly a baguette smuggler.

_ One day, Agreste, you will have control over your boners. One day, you will be able to think about threesomes and keep it  _ foutu _ together. _

As always, Adrien took a perverse pleasure in lying to himself.

Sneaking shy glances at each other, they sat at a very familiar table. Not long ago, it had held two slightly drunk and certainly hungover teenage superheroes, doing battle to save Paris, in the most Parisian way: chatting at a cafe. Unnoticed by each other, both Marinette and Adrien gave themselves a secretive smile as they remembered.

The awkward-quiet of too many turned-on-sexy-time memories faded into the nervous-quiet of a first date which had been preempted by both parties having already encountered each other in a naked way: not sure what to say, but determined to  _ at least _ do something they wouldn’t tell the pope. 

They nursed two intensely well prepared coffees as they glanced at each other, unsure how to start. When the most common way you encounter one’s date is by awkwardly smashing into them, conversation is not necessarily easy to come by.

Adrien, however, had a keen memory for at least  _ one _ topic that Marinette liked.

“So… did you hear that there was an akuma attack the morning after the party?”

“Why, no!” said Marinette, blinking big blue eyes, the perfect ingenue. “What happened?”

“Apparently someone was turning everything into hipster stuff.”

“Well how about that!” She would never have guessed!

“I think someone said that Ladybug tricked him into just handing over his akumatized object? Isn’t that great?”

“Oh, there had to be more to it than that,” said Marinette. “Chat Noir was there, too, right?”

“Well sure,” said Adrien, leaning back in his chair. “But Ladybug’s the really amazing one.”

Marinette allowed herself a private, internal blush, and managed to keep it off of her face.  _ Oh do go on, Adrien, tell me more about how Ladybug is great _ . But, Marinette considered herself--in or out of costume--someone who valued truth. From Ladybug’s perspective, Chat Noir had been invaluable in defeating the Hipsteur. 

“Hey now, don’t discount Chat Noir,” she said, scooting her chair closer to the table and propping herself up on her elbows, steaming cup of coffee warming her face. “They’re partners. I… think I heard he really helped with the hipster villain.”  She sipped her coffee. “Just sayin’.”

Adrien tried to keep the smile off his face. “Well, I’m sure he’d appreciate that, but Ladybug is purely awesome. Can’t deny that.”

_ Well thanks, Adrien _ , thought Marinette.  _ Better not say that, though… _ “Tell me more about what you like about Ladybug. We can… compare notes?”

At last, something  _ besides _ each others’ naked bodies could dominate the conversation. Adrien went into a long tangent about Ladybug’s superiority and powers, drawing heavily on the Ladyblog to do so--Marinette had potentially found a match for Alya, in terms of obsession.  _ Very _ interesting. 

  
For the most part, Marinette was content to sit and listen to Adrien talk about Ladybug, while she would occasionally chime in, or direct the conversation back to Chat Noir, and his abilities. Adrien might have been downplaying her sable partner a little too thoroughly--and you always have to have each others’ back.

“Would the mademoiselle and monsieur care for any dessert?”

Marinette perked. Living above a patisserie had given her quite the palate for decadent sweets, and dessert was entirely up her alley. Adrien--highly attentive even when talking--immediately noticed. “What desserts do you have?”

“We have a fresh, dripping cream pie--” began the waiter.

“That seems nice,” said Marinette, belatedly realizing that she had been a) watching too much porn and b) said that out loud.  _ I should… not be advertizing that so much _ … 

“--as well as a pair of glazed buns,” he continued, unperturbed. 

Adrien--mere hours away from glazing a considerable section of the bathroom walls--was unable to correctly interpret what “glazed buns” might mean. It sounded to him like something that would end an encounter between Kim and Max, potentially, or could have been related to the Battle of Trafalgar that Mylene and Ivan had attempted. The idea of  _ buns _ coated in his idea of  _ glaze _ made him  _ extremely grateful  _ for the fact that he was sitting rather than standing, and for the fact that their table was covered in a very opaque tablecloth. He adjusted his intentionally-designed-to-be-too-tight Gabriel boxers, cursing for the billionth time his father’s industry, and his role in it.

The waiter, however, was not finished.

“We also have our traditional favorites, including  _ pain au nutella _ \--”

Marinette again choked, this time on a sip of coffee accelerated to near-light speeds by her startled intake of breath. She had not been expecting Saturday’s _pain au_ _NUTTella_ , courtesy of Alix’s interception skills and Nino’s… ample donation. To have another (potentially more legitimate) _pain au nutella_ sprung on her? Quite the surprise.

...She hoped that they at least used a different recipe than Alix had.  _ One part  _ pain au chocolat _ , one part skeeting teenager… _

In the middle of that thought, she spluttered again.

“--and a strawberry ganache sandwiched in between caramel and mocha cakes.”

_ Huh,  _ thought Marinette.  _ What’s that reminding me of? Something pink between two luscious brown things… _

“We call that the  _ menage a trois saveurs _ .”

_ Oh. Alix, Nino, and Alya again.  _ Given how very directly she’d caught Nino and Alya in the act, her mental images gave her  _ too much _ detail. She found herself both hot  _ and _ bothered.

“And last, but not least, a mini-croquembouche.”

Marinette slumped in her chair, lightly unconscious.

A croquembouche. The  _ romance dessert _ . It was present at the cafe, destroying the fragile remnants of Marinette’s sanity--here, on this date, she and Adrien could  _ share _ a croquembouche,  _ right on the table _ . They were at the Champs Elysees. The Eiffel Tower was in view. She couldn’t  _ possibly _ get more French. 

What would she  _ do? _ If she said nothing,  _ Adrien _ might have to place an order. She would  _ listen _ as he ordered a  _ menage a trois _ , or a pastry she now  _ unavoidably associated with Nino’s cum _ , or a  _ dripping creampie _ . The implications of any of those things  _ destroyed _ her. 

She had a vivid, intense fantasy: Adrien, surrounded by anime roses, turning to her, their eyes meeting. Sparkling diamonds of light glittering all around him. In his most sensual bishonen voice, he whispered his desires to the waiter: “ _ Monsieur… I would very much like to experience the creampie _ .” She would agree--oh  _ how _ she would agree. She would nod, hard enough to lose consciousness, fainting, fluttering to the ground, before a powerful manga nosebleed rocketed her into space with its power. 

The other options were no good, either. Imagining Adrien biting into a nutella-filled, flaky pastry sent a shiver of excitement up her spine, and down her chest, and lower, and then  _ lower _ . Adrien’s perfect lips wrapping themselves around the treat--and its recent, gooey Nino-filling, warmed her in a very specific nether region. A reaction she had not entirely anticipated… 

Marinette had never been a tremendously jealous person about anything besides Adrien’s attention. The thought of  _ sharing _ Adrien had only ever really appeared to her when Chloe swept over to drag him away from her; sharing him with  _ others _ was quite a new concept.

...But as the child of bakers, she was hugely intrigued by the idea of feeding her boy a sexually anointed pastry.

That thought dragged her along to the next dessert: glazed buns. Her perverse mind brought to the forefront of her imagination exactly  _ what _ kind of buns and exactly  _ what  _ kind of glaze might be implied. Marinette lived above a boulangerie, and her Ladybug exploits had built up substantial rearward muscle, so she was  _ doubly _ able to provide the buns. And given Adrien’s ability to mortar her clothing to her building, he was  _ amply _ provided of the glaze.

Tearing herself (with reluctance) away from the thought of Adrien bedecking her  _ culette _ out of  _ culottes _ , she turned her thoughts to the worst possible outcome:

Adrien, ordering a croquembouche.

Such a request would immediately wreck her. His sensual voice, querying the waiter for the most _ sexual  _ dessert _ ,  _ the pastry of  _ romance _ , would certainly be her undoing. She would melt, dripping onto the street, running in rivulets between the cobblestones. Such an end would be entirely  _ too soon _ . She had not  _ nearly _ lost enough of her virtue with Adrien yet.

She couldn’t let Adrien’s perfect vocal cords murmur any such sensual dishes. She only had one choice: preemptive strike.

Mere instants had passed. Adrien was in the middle of a turn, redirecting his glorious face from the waiter to Marinette--so close to asking her about the sinful, orgiastic dessert medley. Asking what she  _ wanted _ , as if her appetites could be sated by mere  _ pastries _ . 

She made her voice as confident and clear and stable as she could--which wasn’t very--and dragged her eyes away from Adrien’s sublime visage. 

“We’ll have the croquembouche.”

 

* * *

 

Down the street, two figures watched Marinette and Adrien through a shared pair of binoculars, jealously holding the lenses up to their glasses. 

“I think it’s going pretty well,” said Alya. “Marinette’s barely even as pink as her scarf, so that’s barely a blush at all.”

Nino nodded next to her. “Adrien looks like he isn’t even doing the neck-grab thing, so he’s probably fine, too.”

Alya scoffed, a sharp exhalation blasting a brief swirl of fog from her nose. “As if he was going to be the one with issues.”

“Yeah, I guess. Boy’s issues are mostly not school-related.”

“True enough.”

They swapped binoculars again, Nino pressing them awkwardly against his glasses. It was awkward; the rubber eyepieces bonked against the lenses of his specs, ruining his vision at the same time as they magnified it. He eventually perfected his hold, hovering them in front of his face, squinting into the minute circle of light therein. Marinette was reddening, as Adrien was facing the waiter. From his vantage, he couldn’t tell what was being discussed--but Marinette’s color was becoming more and more dramatic.

“Uh oh.”

“What? Give me the binoculars.” Alya reached up to snatch them from his hands, but one long, expert arm of Nino kept her a safe distance away. “Aaaagh, you’re the worst!”

“Marinette’s getting red.”

“Really? What is it? Let me see! It could be a girl thing!”

“Here, take a look. It’s a waiter, saying something. Not sure what.”

Alya peeped through the binoculars, having the same issues with her glasses as Nino. She shook her head, brow furrowed.

“This could be bad. We need to get closer.”

“Did you bring them?”

“Of course!” Alya produced a bag, and began rifling through it, handing a bundle to Nino. 

Nino unrolled a long buff-colored trench coat, slipping into it and flipping up the collar--more for concealment than for any need to keep out the chill. From the pocket, he slipped a simple domino mask over his face, removing his glasses to get it settled. 

“Oh--uh, sorry sir. Have you seen my boyfriend? He’s about your height, goes by Nino, wears glasses,” said Alya, raising her eyes from her bag. She looked around, shifting to the side to look behind the mysterious masked stranger who had suddenly appeared. “He was just here.”

“Babe, it’s me.” Nino lifted his mask, before re-settling it and replacing his glasses. 

“Nino! Jeez! Where did you go?”

“Alya. It’s just the mask, seriously. Look, check it out. It’s me putting a mask on.”

“...Ohhhhh…”

“Look, just put your coat and mask on. We have to eavesdrop.” He rubbed his chin, thinking, as she complied. “I guess we could… spill something on the waiter? If we need to make him leave. Or maybe text Marinette or Adrien something good to say? I’m not sure. We should have made them wear the earpieces again like when--”

He turned back to Alya.

“Oh--sorry, ma’am. I didn’t see you there. I was talking to my girlfriend, I guess she just stepped into the shop or something.”

The curvy young woman next to him was wearing a small domino mask and a trench coat--Alya must have slipped away to check her phone, or makeup, or some such. Where had she gone?

“Nino, seriously.”

“What? How did you know my name?”

“Nino.” The stranger raised her mask and glasses. “It’s me. Alya. Your girlfriend. Who you  _ know _ .”

“...Oh.”

“Well I guess the disguises work…” she shook her head, digging for one last accessory. “No way will they know we’re there. Here, take this.”

Nino nodded, accepting what Alya handed him as he pondered the startling effectiveness of masks in confusing the people of France. Looking down at what was in his hands, he balked.

“Alya? Fedoras, seriously?”

“We’re undercover, Nino! It’s practically the law to wear a fedora and a trench coat!”

“I hate this,” he said, doffing his usual cap, replacing it with the fedora. “I feel like I’m going to start using Bitcoin.”

“You take that back.”

“Seriously, it’s like I’m gonna open the coat up and there’ll be a t-shirt with a wolf howling at the moon on it.”

“Wolf shirts are badass, Nino, you take that back.”

“Okay it’s good you’re so hot or we’d have to have a talk about that.”

“Shut up you love it,” said Alya as she settled her own fedora on her head, stuffing her hair into it. “Okay, disguises on. Let’s go.”

Hand in hand, they crossed to the cafe, clandestinely sneaking a spot in the corner with a clear line of sight to the date.

 

* * *

 

Underneath the table, Tikki and Plagg were sitting on the seat of an empty chair, playing the tiniest game of craps ever, using two extra-large grains of salt. 

“Hey Tikki,” said Plagg, rolling snake eyes. “I seriously can’t believe that they never recognize each other.”

“Seriously,” Tikki replied. “The French are awful with masks.”

“Oh yeah? I figured it was miraculous magic.”

“You didn’t know this? Plagg, come on. Basic miraculous stuff.”

“I had stuff to do! I don’t have time to keep up!”

“Lies. Remember how hard it was in China to keep Chat Noir from finding out who Ladybug was back in China? She had to change her hair and everything.”

“...Oh yeah…”

“But slap a mask on a Frenchman and suddenly no-one knows who they are.”

“Didn’t you tell Marinette that was magic?”

“Yeah! The country had to be cursed or something, to be this bad with masks.”

“...Huh, good point.”

“Plus, it keeps the game going. If she thinks it’s impossible to find out who Chat Noir is, she won’t think about it too much. Makes it more likely that they reveal themselves intentionally.”

“You sly bug!”

“Roll the bones, kitty. Mama Tikki’s feelin’ lucky today.”

 

* * *

 

“Very good, Mademoiselle.” The waiter turned and left. 

Adrien shot the waiter a last smile as he departed with Marinette’s order, before turning back to his date.

_ Date! I can’t believe I’m actually on one of those! And with Marinette! Nice job! Why thank you. _

_ And trust Marinette to order an amazing-sounding dessert! She really knows how to treat a fellow. _

Behind him, two figures were taking exaggeratedly slow steps, toes lightly touching the ground with each pace. They wore long coats with upturned collars, low-lying fedoras, and some form of face-concealing mask, and were entirely anonymous.

Adrien sipped his recently-refilled coffee, wrapping his hands around the cup to feel its warmth. The gesture reminded him of Ladybug, so recently his date at this very cafe, at this very table. 

“But yeah, so that’s why I think the Human-Human Fruit has so much untapped potential. I could see Chopper being the most powerful member of the Straw Hats, easily.” With a decisive plunk, Marinette lowered her coffee mug to the table, ending her weeaboo screed. After placing the order for a croquembouche, she had began speaking notably faster, drawing in his attention with animated hand gestures. Almost as if she was intentionally trying to distract him from something--nah.

Adrien nodded sagely, re-sugaring his coffee. She made a number of good points--sort of a crack theory, but that was essentially the purpose of anime. Adrien wondered if she frequented the same theory forums as he did? A few years ago, he had authored a number of posts which he was still inordinately proud of, linking multiple anime universes into a complex meta-narrative. 

That phase had made for… interesting assignments, being homeschooled. 

It was getting later on in the evening. Crowds of commuters were slowly turning into leisurely shoppers, tourists, and gadabouts, and the various street vendors of the Paris avenues began hawking their wares. Startlingly enough, it wasn’t as much tourist kitsch as normal.

Speculations of the wider environment aside, Marinette’s extensive theories demanded his own. “So, Marinette, do you think it’d be possible for--”

“GETCHA RUBBERS HERE! RUBBERS! GET’EM NICE AND TIGHT, FITTED RIGHT TO YA! NO GLOVE NO LOVE!”

A vendor was pushing his cart by, waving his latex wares to get attention from passers-by. A fistful of close-ended, flexible cylinders dangled from his hand. 

“Oh, uh… I guess I don’t need those,” said Marinette. As soon as the words left her mouth, her eyes grew wide and she hunkered down into her scarf and sweater, anime-fueled confidence abandoning her.

_ Why now of all times do I choose to vocally discuss how I don’t need condoms!? Why do you do this to me, birth control?! _

“GET YER RUBBER GLOVES HERE!”

“...Oh _.” _

“D-did… did you think…” Across the table, Adrien was blushing. “Um, did… the guy… meant… uh…”

“C-condoms?” Marinette prompted,  _ for no good reason at all _ , she told herself. 

Adrien merely nodded, turning a solid half-Marinette of red. “Glad I wasn’t the, uh… only one.”

They shared a nervous laugh, both slightly embarrassed ( _ naturellement _ ) at their collective dirty minds; proof positive that their thoughts had not strayed  _ too _ too far from the amorous mishaps of the weekend. 

“Ha ha! Yep! Just gloves! Regular stuff to sell from a cart on a street,” said Marinette, smoothly, and not being awkward at all.

“Definitely! Defini--”

From the corner of his eye, Adrien saw a small flock of people all eating bananas in slow motion. Thinking back later, he was almost certain that they were not actually slow motion, but rather that his heightened libido made him pay far too detailed attention to an  _ entirely nonsexual _ act of phallic fruitllatio-- _ merde _ \--food eating. Yes.

_ Think of something else, Agreste, stop looking at people sexually mouthing dickfruits. There’s probably just a fruit truck somewhere... _

_ NEW TOPIC. What was it that Marinette said right before? Good, go with that, it’s conversation. _

“So wait what did you mean before when you said you guess you don’t need any rubber--” he started, before being cut off by:

“FRESH PEACHES! JUICY PEACHES! HOT, TIIIIIIIIGHT PEACHES!”

“What? Why are the peaches tight?” asked Marinette, as a fruit cart rolled by, its sensually-voiced pusher crossing the street. “Why would a peach be tight?” She was calling to the wind now, hopeless for an answer.

Adrien, sitting next to her, stewed, thoughts consumed by thoughts of a very specific hot, tight, juicy peach which he was very certain was biding its time beneath Marinette’s skirt.  _ Cold showers and exotic American bat sports, Adrien, come on! Stop thinking about Marinette’s… naughty fruit parts. _

_...What the  _ foutre _ euphemism is that? _

_ Okay keep it together think of non-sexual fruits _ , he told himself, trying to manage a distraction as he scanned the fruitmonger’s wares.

“Why would anyone advertise like that? Why is a tight peach--oh,” said Marinette.

_ Peach. No! Dammit! Focus, Adrien! _

_ Banana. No! We’ve been over this! It’s a dick! _

_ Fig. Wrong! That’s a gesture! A bad one! _

_ Melons. Ah! No! That’s a word for boobs! _

_ Cherry. Dammit! Another sex thing! For virgins! _

_ Passion fruit.  _ Foutre, _ I’m losing ground. _

_ Bad fruit, bad fruit... _

_...Durian? Good! Huge and gross! Smells bad! Focus on durians! _

“DURIANS ARE A BAD FRUIT THAT SMELLS LIKE DEATH,” said Adrien, ruining the moon the most appropriate way. “Uh… that’s some fruit information for you.”

“Oh yeah! My mom bought one of those to try to make pastries with it. We had to close the bakery for a month.” She held herself, looking off into the middle distance. Overcome by memories. “That was our hardest winter…”

Blinking, she came back to herself. “Sorry! Sorry. Bakery stories, you know?”

Settling themselves down with bakery ideas rather than sexfruit, Adrien and Marinette gazed at each other over a slow sip of coffee. They had been here a little while now, and while it seemed that Paris was conspiring to make them embarrassed, they finally were getting comfortable enough to actually  _ converse _ .  _ Hell _ , thought Marinette, mid-sip, _ even my weird anime theories kind of worked in a conversation. I could actually manage to-- _

“TRAVELING JEWELER HERE, JEWELRY AND JEWELRY SERVICES! HALF OFF BIJOU POLISHING! POLISH YOUR BIJOU WHILE YOUR MAN WATCHES!”

A stooped, elderly woman pushed a sturdy cart across the sidewalk, brushes and picks and solvents jangling on its frame. True to her word, a placard stating “BIJOU POLISHING - RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU” bedecked the cart. 

Startled coffee-spray erupted from both sides of the table, splattering Marinette and Adrien with high quality French roast, or given that they were in Paris, just “roast.” Neither had forgotten the new definition for “bijou” which they’d learned at Marinette’s party. And Adrien had  _ certainly _ not forgotten Marinette’s habit of polishing a specific bijou with impressive regularity. 

His napkin, previously folded in his completely horizontal lap, suddenly slid off to the side. A dramatic incline had appeared in Adrien’s trousers, crotchwise. Adrien wisely crossed his legs. 

 

* * *

 

From several tables over, two trenchcoated, fedoraed individuals stared at their two classmates. 

“This is getting good,” said Alya, cramming another  _ pain au nutella _ into her mouth. Around it, she added, “I can’t believe how they can get embarrassed by such regular street traffic, but they’re doing good.”

“Yeah!” said Nino, who was attached to the other end of Alya’s pastry, forming the stickiest Lady and the Tramp impression of modern history. “They’re talking and the embarrassment seems to be mostly coming from  _ outside _ themselves. Progress!”

“Progress!” 

Both staring at their classmates’ table, Alya and Nino’s faces met when they reached the middle of the  _ pain au nutella _ . Their lips met, soft against each other, as their glasses clacked and they finished their respective bites of the pastry.

Alya smiled, looking  _ especially _ debauched in her disguise.

“Oh waiter,” she said, hailing their server. “Can we get one of those mini-croquembouches?”

 

* * *

 

“So I think that’s probably why I’ve stagnated in my gaming skills. Not enough people to play with.”

“You’re probably right--I’ve played with my dad and mom since I was little, but I kinda imagine Gabriel isn’t much into video games.”

“Nailed it,” said Adrien. “My reflexes are honed to a razor’s edge… but only against the AI.”

“Well at least you’ll be handy when the Singularity hits.”

“You don’t think they’ll want models?”

“Ya know… Nino’s the one into robots,” replied Marinette, recalling her classmate’s all-too-expected Daft Punk fetish.  “Maybe we should ask him if--”

“EXTRA VIRGIN! LOTTA VIRGIN OVER HERE!”

“Not for long…” said Marinette, under her breath. 

“EXTRA VIRGIN OLIVE OIL!”

“Did you say something?” 

“Oh, nothing. Olive oil, mmm, yummy.”

“Yeah!”

They had gotten used to the surprising slew of environmental sexual harassment, as much as one could. Halfway through a conversation about vegan leather replacements, a knacker had walked by asking whether Adrien was interested in seeing “the largest Russian sausage in France.” Unfazed after a parade of sex fruits, Adrien had merely replied that he actually went to school with Ivan. The charcuter had left impressed by the skinny boy’s knowledge of phallic meats.

In the midst of a passionate discussion of whether Ned Stark had done anything wrong, a sandwichmonger had inquired whether Marinette or Adrien would care to sample a thick, meaty footlong; Marinette had replied that the “ _ foutre _ -long” pun was good, but they’d already heard it, to Adrien’s delight. The traveling deli owner had been confused, but nodded in acceptance.

Even the mysterious couple scarfing croquembouche in the corner of the patio barely phased her. Something about them, and their obfuscatory getups, made her highly inattentive towards them.

Overall, she had done a very good job of not being embarrassed.  _ Yep, _ she thought,  _ I’m pretty much over my intense awkwardness. Pretty proud of myself! _

... _ Hey didn’t we order something? _

“So Marinette, I have a question.”

“Yes, Adrien?”

“What… what exactly  _ is _ a croquembouche?”

Instantly, her confidence was shattered.

In deflecting the various ecological harassments of the Parisian vendors, she had entirely neglected how aghast she could become at questions from the very table at which she sat.  _ How could I be so blind? How could I not have seen this coming? Adrien’s power to make me nervous! It holds me still! Damn my pride! _

... _ Okay get it together Dupain-Chang, there’s a pastry explanation to give. _

“O-oh, it’s a… a traditional French dessert. Fancy events, usually. It’s made out of a bunch of cream-filled balls in a cone.”

Two heartbeats passed. 

In those heartbeats, Marinette carefully assessed how poorly she had phrased that description.

“Cream-filled” had  _ certainly _ been a poor choice of words. Especially given her recent contraception situation, cream-filled had taken on a very distinct new meaning.

“Balls” was, of course, the nards. Cream-filled made double-sense.

The worst offender, however, had easily been the word “cone.” To her credit, she figured, she was pretty distracted. French had a lot of accents! Not even native-born Parisians like herself could manage them all!

So it was  _ entirely _ feasible that one might slip up slightly and pronounce “cone” like it was “ _ con. _ ” Anyone could make that mistake.

_ Anyone _ could have told their supermodel crush, who they were on a date with, that the dessert they had ordered was pretty much “cum-laden testicles in a cunt.”

_ Maybe I can call Chat Noir and get him to Cataclysm my head off _ . 

_ Maybe if I text Alya she’ll come by and chop my head off with a sword. _

_ Yeah that sounds good. _ Marinette was already typing out a desperate plea for her own murder on her phone, under the table. A stiff smile, pasted nervously in a bone-white face, shone at Adrien.

Months passed in that instant.

“Oh! That sounds tasty!”

…

_ No fucking way (Marinette! Language!) _ .

This precious ball of sunshine hadn’t even  _ flinched _ at her  _ incredibly foul  _ double entendre. 

_ Adrien. Love of my life. Steward of my soul. Too good for this world, too pure. _

Her face flushed to a regular pink, no longer chalky-white from the stress of a deeply graphic depiction of a dessert. Erotic though the croquembouche might be, it wasn’t  _ unsavory _ . It wasn’t  _ sleazy _ .

“You must really like croquembouche!”

_ Unf. Say it again. _

“Y-yeah! I’ve, uh, never really had one… to share…”

“That’s fine! This’ll be fun, we can share a tasty cream cone together.”

That sorta-homophone again. Marinette’s heart briefly stopped, all energy in her body channeled to how exactly she might share a creamy  _ con _ with Adrien. She stopped herself from fantasizing with a colossal effort of will, dragging herself away from an onslaught of mental images involving blonde hair, green eyes, perfect abs, and a gentle smile glowing from the space between her legs.

“YES LET’S PLEASE DO ha ha I mean yeah it should be tasty!”

Adrien beamed back at her. The weight of his gaze--affectionate, engaged, something  _ extra _ \--fell around her like a thick quilt, holding her close and warming her to the bones. Certain parts of her, of course, got a little  _ extra _ warm under that look.

The connection was broken by the arrival of the most  _ sexual _ pastry: the croquembouche. 

Between them, a glorious tower descended, ring upon ring of stacked choux pastry, dripping with thick cream, strewn about with spun sugar. Golden puffs of fried dough bulbed out from the rough shape of the cone, and Marinette’s bakerly eye espied the true craftsmanship that went into each cream puff. The entire sugary tableau must have risen half a meter. 

It was a glorious sight. Marinette immediately felt herself become  _ extremely  _ prepared for whatever Adrien might want to do to her. 

For the moment, however, Adrien’s eyes were on the marvel of patisserie in front of him. He was stunned. A boy on model rations, suddenly witness to a glorious ziggurat of romantic calories? No force could restrain his adoration. Seeing his mouth water and his eyes bulge, Marinette’s intense  _ need _ for him morphed slowly into an intense need to  _ feed _ him.

As Adrien gaped, she plucked the top profiterole from the croquembouche’s apex, marring the pristine symmetry of its form. She rose, beckoning Adrien to do so as well; he followed her lead, slack-faced, staring at the treat in her hand.

The table wasn’t large, barely sized for more than two cups of coffee and a plate of croissants. The croquembouche nearly overwhelmed the entire surface. Leaning forward, Marinette lured Adrien closer, teasing the choux treat in front of his lips, drawing him closer over the peak of their dessert. 

“Share the first one with me?”

He could do nothing but nod.

Unnoticed by the two, a corner of the patio had erupted into resonant whoops. Somewhere nearby, a bottle of champagne was popped.

Marinette and Adrien leaned closer, each taking a small, sugar-crunchy bite of profiterole in their mouths, letting the silky flesh of the dessert melt in their mouths. Another bite, and another, less and less pastry available this time. Adrien moaned, closing his eyes to focus purely on the pleasure of treat-in-mouth. Marinette was close enough her lips felt the vibration of his purring hum of contentment. Unnoticed, Adrien’s hand rose to her cheek. 

One last bite, and there was no dessert left between them. They touched gently with hands, above their shared croquembouche, Marinette’s finger still sticky from sugar resting lightly on Adrien’s shoulder, Adrien’s palm cupping her cheek. The croquembouche was forgotten, for a moment. Their lips met, and were empty of anything but each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BASTILLE DAY, in a way. It had been too long since we got some real sin going on.
> 
> This year is a hard Bastille Day. I couldn't get this chapter polished and posted on the day itself (it's about 12:12am my time), but please take a moment to remember the people of Nice. Please remember that the purpose of terror is to make you hate more, and love less. I don't know if my dumb fic about make-believe French teens helps anything at all, but hate breeds evil and we do not need more.


	18. In Which The Date Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date continues, and at least two impulsive suggestions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains two dorks, and the second half of that kiss I started. It also contains what I can only assume is an excellent use of French taxpayer funds.

_Marinette and Adrien leaned closer, each taking a small, sugar-crunchy bite of profiterole in their mouths, letting the silky flesh of the dessert melt in their mouths. Another bite, and another, less and less pastry available this time. Adrien moaned, closing his eyes to focus purely on the pleasure of treat-in-mouth. Marinette was close enough her lips felt the vibration of his purring hum of contentment. Unnoticed, Adrien’s hand rose to her cheek._

_One last bite, and there was no dessert left between them. They touched gently with hands, above their shared croquembouche, Marinette’s finger still sticky from sugar resting lightly on Adrien’s shoulder, Adrien’s palm cupping her cheek. The croquembouche was forgotten, for a moment. Their lips met, and were empty of anything but each other._

* * *

Marinette had never been struck by lightning before.

She’d come close a couple of times--Climatika being the most obvious example--and she’d narrowly escaped random blasts of energy from the less physical akuma villains. At her party, she’d been electrocuted for several billion instants, twice in a row, when she and Adrien had taken body shots off of each other. But she’d never been struck by lightning until her lips touched Adrien’s.

The feeling of her tongue on Adrien’s abs, and his tongue on hers, paled in comparison to the annihilating force that was that first, for-real, this-one-counts kiss. There was a _foutu_ _croquembouche_ , for pity’s sake.

For the incredibly French tableau--cafe, coffee, croquembouche--the kiss was barely French at all. Or as they say in France, barely at all. Still, the flickering touch of his tongue over and between her lips brought each moment they spent touching to a breathless crest, and she used every secret hint Alya had imparted to tease his lips back with the tip of her tongue, smiling mid-kiss every time she felt his breath catch in his throat, only to find herself gasping again when she felt the warmth of his lips in an ever-so-slightly-new way.

Only a half meter of conical pastry kept her from leaping directly onto him and tackling him to the ground to kiss _more_ and _harder_. But one must not disrespect a croquembouche.

* * *

Behind her, unobserved, the maitre’d had been unobtrusively clearing his throat for several seconds. Once a full minute had hit, and he was still ignored by two teenagers in the midst of Paris’s longest first kiss, he began increasing his obtrusiveness. Eventually, realizing that the internal timepieces of the two teenagers was not at all related to his own, he slipped the check under the croquembouche platter. He made a quick gesture, and other servers bussed the empty coffee cups and set up a short velvet rope to separate the smooch pillar from the cafe proper.

In syncopated rhythm, the maitre’d deployed the necessary accessories for young love. Two servers flanked the table, casting a shower of rose petals over the two lovers. A man with a curled moustache in a beret arrived, playing an accordion and singing a romantic gavotte, accompanied by a slender woman in a slinky black dress on violin. One brief phone call later, the Eiffel Tower lit up pink. A bottle of champagne was presented to every table nearby, courtesy of the French Ministry of Young Love.

You get romance vortexes in Parisian cafes every once in awhile; you have to stay prepared.

* * *

In between passionate, barely-balancing swoons over the fact that Adrien _foutu_ Agreste was kissing her _on the lips_ , Marinette would pause to mentally congratulate herself on a first kiss that not only _totally counted_ this time, but which felt _incredible_.

Her lips and his completed a circuit that an infinite current traversed, melting what little resistance--to _anything_ \--she had left in her. She was making electricity puns like she was trying to impress Chat. This kiss was a game changer; her _joie_ would have to be _bien_ in an entirely different manner, now that she knew that kissing was a _thing_ and that _thing_ could _feasibly happen_. Unable to stop, she found herself moaning into his lips, and feeling the tender vibrations of his own low vocalization buzz into her own.

It was absurd and beautiful and passionate, and she had never felt anything like it. She was storming the mother _fucking_ Bastille and she had some _major_ plans for the First Estate.

In a tiny corner of her mind which she had allocated to hold unimportant things like cogent thoughts and her identity while the rest of her consciousness enjoyed the kiss, she kept asking herself unnecessary, pointless, not-focused-on-the-feeling-of-Adrien’s-lips things, like:

_… Okay… kissing definitely can’t be like this all the time, right? Like not everyone just disintegrates into a million points of light?_

And:

_What is an appropriate amount of time to have a first kiss in public?_

And:

 _What would his lips feel like_ somewhere else?

For the most, she ignored those questions, as they devoted crucial processing power away from experiencing history’s most perfect and pristine lip-lock. But she definitely devoted some portion of her mental facilities to the last question. There were, after all, plenty of parts to kiss.

Long moments passed as Marinette and Adrien kissed, propped against each other above their croquembouche. For that stream of time, in which nothing existing and no one else mattered, no kiss could have been more perfect. But all things must end; even a pretty-much-first kiss has to end sometime.

...Hopefully to be later turned into a first-of-many kisses.

They pulled apart, lips popping in a little satisfying smack as they left each other. Marinette had slid her hand up Adrien’s neck and cheek, and was cradling his jaw, while Adrien had cupped her chin in his hand, as if desperate to keep her as close as possible.

The best kisses may sometimes require, _demand_ , that you close your eyes, ignore your ears, stop any sense but _touch_ , so that every possible nerve can focus on touch, on another person joined to you. Marinette found the truth of that out the hard way, as she blinked long-closed eyes against the brightness of the cafe lights. In between the first and last moments of their lips touching, the sun had set.

_Yeah, this can’t be what every kiss is like. Society would collapse. What day is it?_

Her eyes eventually focused on a pair of green orbs gazing back at her.

Adrien.

His breath was still a little short--not as much as hers--after the blissful ordeal of the kiss. Holding each others’ faces, centimeters apart, they shared the same breath and blinked slowly into each other's’ eyes.

...And didn’t know what to do next.

What do you even do after your first kiss, when the date isn’t necessarily over?

_What do I do? Aagh! I didn't plan for this! I planned for kissing and getting married but I have severely neglected the middle part!_

_Quick, Marinette, think of something._

“Uh… you… want some more croquembouche?”

Adrien’s eyes lowered to the decadence cone below their faces. His mouth began to water, for a different reason this time, and in reality instead of just as a metaphor for his various other appetites. He was as unable to speak as Marinette usually was. So he nodded.

When it came to croquembouche, however, no one was as ravenous as Marinette.

Painfully slow, they drew hands away from cheeks and lips away from the immediate about-to-kiss zone surrounding the other’s lips. Adrien returned to his chair, a whole seat, of which he was only using the edge. Scooting her own chair around to his side of the table, Marinette plopped down next to him. She had _intended_ to gracefully descend, but given her track record of dexterity around Adrien, “plop” was fine.

A short velvet rope divided them from the rest of the cafe, and they didn't notice. Several tables had raised concerns about the hugely exuberant masked strangers whooping in the corner, but the croquembouched table had not gotten the tiniest bit close to noticing, even when a waiter roped off _their_ section of the cafe with a second velvet rope and pair of mobile posts. The appearance of champagne was also helpful, in pacifying the other patrons. Where had that come from?

With only a regular amount of ulterior motives, Marinette pulled another croquembouche nub off of the cone and guided it to Adrien’s mouth. Still a little dumbstruck, he leaned forward to take a bite, looking her in the eyes as he did. A thrilling frisson of energy raced up her spine and settled at the space between her shoulder blades. She was feeding Adrien. Feeding him the _sexual dessert._ Best date ever.

* * *

The flavor of the croquembouche was somehow new to Adrien, the very recent memory of its crunch and creamy center in his mouth entirely obliterated by the primal force of Marinette’s lips on his. Despite the fact that he had Lady and the Tramped to the middle of a profiterole mere moments ago, he took the treat into his mouth with a tender newness. Every memory of that profiterole flavor was gone, overwhelmed by the fact that he had had a _kiss_ and that it was his first--at least, the first one that counted.

Adrien chewed absentmindedly on the choux Marinette placed on his tongue, almost dreading that something would replace the flavor and experience of Marinette’s lips on his-- _whoa nevermind these things are great_.

Now he was sitting at a cafe in Paris, a pretty--no, a beautiful--girl scooted next to him, and she had just kissed him, and she was feeding him the _best_ thing he had ever had in his mouth.

Well--except for maybe Marinette’s panties. So second best thing he’d ever had in his mouth. He felt a blush start.

Well--also except for Marinette’s tongue. The blush expanded as he gazed at his little baker girl, feeding him glorious pastry orbs. _Focus._ So, third best. The croquembouche is third best. But third place is still pretty impressive! It was certainly number one in terms of food, at least. Okay, good. Blush contained. Reasonable Adrien in control.

He had barely suppressed his blush when the unstoppable idea of _what other flavors will Marinette introduce me to?_ flashed into his mind. And he did _not_ limit his imagination to mere foodstuffs.

Marinette might be thirsty enough to lust after _both_ of Paris’ teen superheroes, but in this moment, Adrien could put her to shame with the power of his sudden burst of desire. He was, all at once, extremely glad that he was no longer standing up next to the table--his reaction might just have poked a hole in the croquembouche. Or knocked it off the table outright.

...Given Marinette’s reaction to the croquembouche, that description might be a little too vivid to convey to her, he figured. At least, in a place this far from a bed...

Savoring every progressive nibble, matching eyes with Marinette, Adrien finished the profiterole. Her fingers lingered on his lips, brushing them gently. Ridding them of crumbs, maybe. Enjoying the feel, more likely than not. Adrien certainly didn’t mind.

His hand swept up to hold hers, pressing her long, nimble fingers to his lips. His eyes stayed on hers as she drew in a sharp breath, squirming a tiny bit in her seat. The most Chat Noir part of him smirked internally at seeing her reaction--romanced and flustered and touched, all at once.

_...Oh merde…_

The most _Chat Noir_ part of him was _also_ definitely responsible for _kissing her hand_ , which was something that _Adrien doesn’t do_ . But that Chat Noir _definitely does_ . Hell, he had even kissed Marinette’s hand _as_ Chat Noir before. This could be disastrous.

Meanwhile, in Marinette’s head, thoughts were going a different direction.

 _How the_ foutre _is that so much better without my suit on? Is that what Chat Noir had been going for? Damn. He should take lessons from Adrien._

Chat Noir kissing her hand had never made her squirm in anything resembling the fluttering glee she was feeling at that moment. She only squirmed out of his grip. Chat Noir kissing her hand had never made her suck in her breath to stifle a moan. She only stifled a sigh at his Casanova schtick. Chat Noir kissing her hand had never made her _want_ him. She only _wanted_ him to _focus on the akuma_.

 _Learn to manage some buildup, chaton_ , she thought. _I had no idea that kissing my hand could_ work _on me_.

Adrien, meanwhile, had not withdrawn his lips from her fingers.

 _Shit shit_ merde _shit_ merde _fuck_ foutre _merde_ _doing too much Chat Noir stuff gotta play it off somehow dammit._

_Think, Adrien, think. How can you prove you’re not Chat Noir uh…_

_QUICK LOOK AS EMBARRASSED AS YOU FEEL!_

Adrien deployed years of professional modeling experience to shift his face from sultry teen heartthrob to awkward adolescent trainwreck, finally matching his exterior to his interior. His posture changed, withdrawing. _Yes. Play it off like you think she didn’t like it even though you’re pretty sure she did, nice._

 _...Oh_ foutre _she liked it right? Was that too much? DID I GO TOO FAR? I GOT IN MY OWN HEAD DAMMIT, FOCUS!_

“Um, sorry! I, uh… I just remember you saying you liked Chat Noir and everyone sees him do this, so… I thought I’d give it a try. I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

Marinette shook herself, as if coming awake from a comfortable, upright nap. She blinked twice, rapidly, puzzling through what Adrien had just said. _What?_

“What? No! Th-that was fine! Nice! It was nice! Yep, that Chat Noir, he’s a real romance boy, uh huh!”

_Dammit Marinette stop talking while you’re ahead seriously this is what happens, you keep talking and all of a sudden you say a bunch of stuff about wanting to bang Ladybug and Chat Noir and then people get this idea and then you say this stuff what the hell!_

“Yeah! No problem at all! G-go ahead and do that again, that’s fine!”

_Okay better, get more kisses, get them wherever, that’s progress, nice, maybe give Chat Noir another shot at it you never know maybe Adrien broke the seal and now--whoa where did that thought come from?_

“Oh! Good! That’s good!” said Adrien, giving her fingers a little squeeze. _Crisis averted, total diversion_ . “Yeah, I just--since you said--I thought I’d try something kinda… flirty? In a way that is _definitely unlike me_! Ha ha, yes.”

“You… it doesn’t necessarily have to be unlike you anymore. I-I mean, no pressure, b-but I--” she gulped. “I think I really like when you kiss me.” _Okay good you can end the sentence there_ . “Wherever you kiss me.” _Goddammit._

Marinette glared out the corner of her eye at the croquembouche, certain that some high-proof spirit must have been soaked into the choux balls of the dessert. _Surely_ there had to be something in the coffee. _Surely_ she wouldn’t just have such a big stupid mouth that she--

Unable to stop herself, Marinette gave Adrien a slow, exaggerated wink.

_A WHOLE BIG STUPID FACE, NOT JUST A MOUTH, GODDAMMIT!_

For the first time that evening, Adrien was thankful he wasn’t doing anything with his mouth. If he had heard what Marinette just said while he was eating some of the croquembouche, he would have the likely-unpleasant experience of shooting choux pastry out of his nose. If he’d heard it while kissing Marinette, somehow, he would have accidentally inflated her with a startled blast of breath. But since his mouth was unoccupied, he managed to just give a little gasp, chew his lip, and nod, nod, _nod_.

There are only so many interpretations possible when one’s date makes an innuendo, and follows it with a conspicuous, Alya-obvious wink. There are yet fewer ways to restart the conversation without awkwardness.

The best response, as a matter of fact, is sometimes upping the ante.

Adrien placed his other hand over Marinette’s, holding her hand cradled in both of his. He squeezed them, and came to a decision. A bold one.

“Would you like to come back to my place? My dad’s in Italy and it’s totally empty.”

Marinette’s eyes went wide and her jaw slackened a degree. She felt her fingers curling around Adrien’s knuckles in a tight, tightening squeeze.

“We… don’t have to do anything, we could play some video games or… uh…”

Marinette was blinking fast and hard, her eyes wide and shining. A slow rhythmic vibration buzzed inside her.

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable or--”

Now she was nodding. Nodding hard and aggressively, suddenly a burst of movement. Her free hand--she wasn’t going to rob herself of the warmth of Adrien’s grasp--waved down a server for a to-go croquembouche container.

“YES! Yeah! Definitely! Yeah let’s do that! That sounds fun! Boy yeah! Keep date! Keep date go! Go date make date keep go!”

Unnoticed, two strangers in fedoras and trenchcoats settled their bill and slunk out of the cafe. They set up station across the street, maintaining line of sight to the croquembouched couple.

“Okay! Yeah! L-lets do that!” With startling alacrity, a waiter arrived and wrapped their croquembouche in an aluminum foil Eiffel Tower. Adrien and Marinette were still nodding and agreeing with each other. “Yeah! Definitely! This is good! Oh,” said Adrien, glancing at the check. He reached into his pocket, grabbing a fistful of bills and throwing them onto the table. “Money!”

“Lets go!” Marinette was giggling and giddy, and couldn’t stop herself from nodding.

He hoisted the considerable bulk of the pastry Romance Tower in one hand, wrapped his fingers around Marinette’s with the other, and they pulled each other towards the Chateau Agreste.

* * *

The street was quiet on their walk back, with only the occasional nervous--or elated--laugh breaking the serenity of the early night. Two inconspicuous noir film rejects followed them, excited but hushed theories bouncing to and fro. Bets were placed, as the blocks to the Agreste mansion melted away. And all the while, Marinette and Adrien walked along in wordless, comfortable silence, punctuated by helpless bouts of giggles and subtle hand squeezes. Perfectly innocent, perfectly discreet. On the outside, at least.

Internally, they were hollerin’.

Marinette was channeling all of her energy into keeping her body from flailing wildly, with a smaller portion dedicated to keeping some blood going to her brain instead of where it wanted to be: her face, to make her the most potent blush-doer in history. Her awkward giggle (from going commando under her pajamas during brunch) had returned, and even the full force of her will couldn’t keep a goofy “huh huh hurr hee hee hur huh heee” from breaking out from between her lips.

She reveled in the feeling of her fingers intertwined with his. When they walked more slowly, savoring the simple experience of being together, on a _date_ , she leaned into him, basking in the warmth of his arm against hers. When they walked faster, eager to get to their destination and whatever might happen there, they swung their hands into the air, back and forth, nearly skipping in a shared exuberance that hadn’t yet turned into the quiet, heavy-breath panting of the consuming _need_ they both felt.

Adrien found himself begging his heart to slow to a reasonable speed, caught between needing Marinette to touch him _more_ \--up against his arm, curled between his fingers, pressed against his chest, however she could be next to him--and the worry that if his pulse was racing faster than a tachyon drag racer, it would be kind of weird for Marinette. The possibility of your delirious heart rate being known by your crush? Mortifying.

He fundamentally, intensely, desperately needed Marinette to not be weirded out by his supernaturally nervous pulse. But the price of being too far removed from her was too dear; other tactics were needed. Calming thoughts. Soothing things.

_Modeling? No, thats just work._

_Marinette? No, that’s why your heart is pounding, idiot._

_Father? Ugh, nope._

_Plagg? Whoa, somehow even worse._

_Uh… Ladybug? Yeah! Ladybug! Cool and powerful and beautiful. She’d raise an eyebrow and tell me to get it together and tease me about being the great Chat Noir undone by a little coffee date and then taking a girl back to your house, GOSH, silly minou._

He could--he’d have to--confide in Ladybug, if anyone, as Char Noir of course. She’d understand, and be willing to talk to him about it. That coffee date had really brought them together! Except that it didn’t really count, of course.

It never occurred to him that Ladybug could be nervous, or insecure. She was the solid rock on which Paris rested, if Paris rested on solid rock instead of a bunch of ancient creepy catacombs. Her presence was the reason Paris could still _be_ , wasn’t it? So her presence, that perfect cleverness and composure, her coolness under fire, _that_ was what he would focus on. And in an _entirely_ not sex way.

Now, to keep it hidden. How do you tell your date that you were thinking of another woman? How do you tell your date that you were thinking about Ladybug? But not in a sex way? When you’d already admitted that you had an immense celebrity crush on her? Can’t even give it as a hint. Stay classy, Adrien.

_No, Adrien! Focus on not being nervous! Miraculous Ladybug the hell out of your pulse, dumbass!_

_Definitely don’t think about what to do once you get Marinette back into your room!_

… Fuck.

An all-too familiar snugness in his intimates alerted him to just how awkward that line of reasoning would make this walk. _My Lady, if you’re listening, please Lucky Charm me a cold shower and throw it right at my dick to Miraculous Ladybug this boner away. Don’t get turned on don’t get turned on don’t get turned on don’t get turned on…_

Beside him, Marinette was lost in her own little world as she walked hand-in-hand with a perfect boy.

 _I hope he’s as turned on as I am right now_.

* * *

“Nino, this is huge. We’re talking Adrien and Marinette endgame here. I’m so proud of them. I’m so proud of us.”

Alya was walking slightly behind Nino, peering from behind his back with a sizeable pair of binoculars steadied on his shoulder. From where she had managed to produce the immense ‘nocs was a mystery to Nino, but he had long given up attempting to understand Alya’s mysterious ways. One could understand the ocean, or one could sail in it unworried, he figured.

“I seriously can’t believe he invited her back to his place,” Nino agreed. “Adrien’s a classy dude, but he borders on way too damn timid. I’m proud of him.” Nino clicked his tongue, and gave a low whistle. “Damn.”  


“We must have really done a number on him last weekend, huh?” said Alya. She adjusted the focus of her binoculars, committing every smile and lip-bite and hand-on-the-back-of-the-neck to memory. _This_ would be going into the annals; she might even need to start writing it up in volume eight of _Marinette’s Love Life, An Unabridged History_.

Nino slunk along the sidewalk, keeping his pace even and steady for Alya’s espionage. His smooth gait also made for a painless snacking experience, as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth from a movie theater-sized tub of the stuff he had acquired. Alya didn’t know where he’d gotten it, or how he had hidden it until now, but she knew that she wasn’t the only one with secrets.

His eyes were round and intent as handful after handful of gloriously buttery popcorn made its way into his mouth. Every so often, he would flip a piece over his shoulder, and Alya would catch it in her mouth effortlessly. They were on the same _mere-foutu_ PAGE _._ Alya made a mental note to bring Nino along for more of her superhero-espying escapades; their partnership was extremely next level, as of this evening.

Of course, she could just wait to interrogate Marinette about her date that evening, but where was the fun in that?

They crept along, stalking their quarries, as Chateau Agreste came into view.

* * *

The rest of the walk was a conflicting mix of comfortable, intimate, awkward, and anticipatory. Neither Adrien nor Marinette knew exactly what they were going to _do_ when they got to Adrien’s place, but they both knew it was _something_ and that it was _a very good idea_ . For the moment, as the blocks melted away, simply being next to each other was enough of a buzz to put Mme. Wine to shame. It was a time for _romance decisions_.

Adrien’s heart had started beating hard, rather than fast, each pulse a pounding thrum inside his head. He was about to have a _girl_ in his _room_ and they’d be _alone_ just like _he_ was always alone.

_...Yikes. Better cool it on that train of thought._

While they were walking, enjoying the mere fact that they were _together_ and about to do _something_ , Adrien hadn’t given a lot of thought to what that _something_ might be. He’d gone through his years having never been on a date or kissed anyone, and over the past few days he’d done both _and_ masturbated with a girl _right next to him_ . So, truly anything could happen, and he didn’t know anything even close to resembling the full range of possibilities. That there _were_ possibilities was a glorious blessing.

Marinette was worried her hand was vibrating the skin off of Adrien’s palm. She could barely contain a potent, nervous quivering, born of an inchoate sensual desire that was--probably--about to be fulfilled. She swirled in that realm of anticipation, like seeing a stack of wrapped presents for your birthday, like the title screen of your favorite childhood film that _really_ lives up to nostalgia. She swirled in it, not knowing what to expect or how to feel or what was going to _happen_ , but knowing more than anything that she wanted it, and that it was very specially hers, and Adrien’s, and something that they would share and keep between themselves forever. _That_ is what she felt as she stepped up to the gate of Chateau Agreste.

A mechanical voice startled her from her reverie.

“ _RETINA SCAN NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE DEPART PREMISES.”_

“Goddammit,” replied Adrien, to Marinette’s unspoken question.

A black orb jutted from an articulated tentacle, probing Marinette with an unsettling red gaze. She froze, the bashful-horny grin wiped from her face and replaced with a perplexed grimace. _That same thing from Adrien’s birthday! Weird!_

Beside her, Adrien paled. His hand, so recently a partner in squeezing and holding and being a little bit sweaty, went limp in hers.

“Oh no… my security system.” He turned to Marinette, a look of panic in his eyes. “Marinette, I’m so sorry! It’s keyed just to let me in and out while my dad and Natalie are in Italy!”

A look of disappointment flashed across Marinette’s features, tucking her brow in with a small wrinkle. Adrien knew his expression was no better.

“I’m so sorry--”

“ _RETINA SCAN NOT RECOGNIZED. PLEASE DEPART PREMISES.”_

“Shut up, you! I’m so sorry, I wanted to… uh…” His hand went to the back of his neck. “S-spend some time alone with you, but I--I guess…”

Marinette gave his hand an encouraging squeeze, a smile curling her lips. “It’s okay, Adrien. We could go to my place, maybe?” She looked down, away from his eyes, smile turning wry. Internally, she kicked herself for the suggestion she was about to make. “We won’t be alone, really. B-but we could play some video games? Or something…” She looked back up to him, pulling his hand to turn his body to face hers, lowering the croquembouche to the ground. Her free hand interlaced with his other, entwining their fingers with. “If that’s okay?”

“O-of course! Yeah! We can do anything!” Adrien stopped himself from putting his hand on the back of his head--a lady had it. “I’m j-just really glad to keep the date going, really.”

“Yeah!” said Marinette. “That’s--yeah! I’d love to keep going!” _Huh_ , she thought, at the same time. _Is he stuttering more than me now?_

 _Nice! Go me! Also,_ so _cute_.

_...Wait is that what people thought about me stuttering?_

But Adrien’s smile distracter her, as was its power. The nervous excitement of spending time alone melted into the a simpler enjoyment of being together, dispelling the building question of what exactly they would do. They held hands, and side-by-side walked to Marinette’s home, followed by their two shadows.

* * *

“Why’d they turn around?” asked Nino.

“Maybe Marinette’s just... not ready?” said Alya.

He looked over his shoulder at her. She put the binoculars down, and their eyes met.

…

Both of them burst out laughing, holding their sides to contain the explosive blast of mirth. Marinette, not ready for Adrien? Too ludicrous for words. Probably an emergency photo shoot or something, the usual.

Muffling their hearty guffaws, the two sleuths resumed their stealthy pursuit of the date-in-motion, as they headed back to the bakery.

* * *

Even though Adrien’s spur-of-the-moment invitation hadn’t panned out, it had definitely happened. And once a proposition is _made_ of that nature, it is not forgotten. Marinette knew that when she’d dared Adrien to play with himself under the covers with her, and Adrien knew it when he invited Marinette back to his mansion. A proposition changes things between two people; the proposer lets their desire be known, and the proposee gets to know about the desire, and make a choice. More than anything else, the date--and the proposition--had told them (confirmed for them) that they _wanted_ each other, and their mutual wanting could lead wherever they chose.

The impulsive desire to get together and just see what _happens_ , though incredibly appealing, had its own share of uncertainty and weight and tension to it. And fear, perhaps, of the unknown. But videogames at the Dupain-Cheng household were safe. Familiar. Pulses returned to reasonable speeds.

But before they got back home, a little slip of a question tickled Marinette’s mind.

Chat had told her that he was going to Cataclysm Adrien’s security system--she could barely believe she’d forgotten about his house’s absurd countermeasures, after the Bubbler and the Jackady incident and Chat mentioning what he was going to do. She was, of course, entirely, _entirely_ fine with Chat enabling Adrien’s party, but she’d had some time to think about the situation since their patrol.

How did they know each other?

 _I’m not being sneaky_ , thought Marinette. _Adrien doesn’t know I’m Ladybug, and it’s a perfectly natural question for me to raise. After all, if we can’t go to his house when it’s just the two of us, how could ordinary girl Marinette know anything about how the party could actually happen? So asking just makes sense! It’s part of my cover!_

_...And maybe it can get Ladybug a bit of an in with Adrien…_

“Hey Adrien? Can I ask you something?”

He turned to her, squeezing her hand for her to continue.

“If your security system wouldn’t let me in… how are you going to get everyone in for the party this weekend?”

Adrien slowed his pace, took a deep breath, and congratulated himself. _I_ knew _the Chat Signal was going to come in handy_.

“Okay…” he started, trying to find the right mental space for this faux-confession. “This might sound a little bit weird, but…” He bit his lip, trying to make it look like he was buying time to think about how to phrase it. “You know how, uh, Chat Noir can use his power to break stuff, right?”

“Ummm,” said Marinette, pretending to be confused. “I don’t see how…”

“I sort of asked him to temporarily destroy the security system for me? But he’s going to ask Ladybug to reverse the damage! It should be fine!” With an entirely honest wrinkle of his nose, he added, “And if not, it’s not like we really need it or anything.”

“But… how did you even talk to him about that? Do you know Chat Noir?”

 _Chat Signal. The perfect crime._ “So, I… okay this is going to sound stupid… I sort of rigged up a Chat Signal. Like the Bat Signal! I put a sheet on my window, and I shone a light at it, and I drew a green cat paw on the light. So it would, like… summon him. Kind of. That was the idea, at least.” He smiled, pre-planned sheepishness all over his face. “It took a few days for him to show up, though. That’s when I asked.”

“So Chat Noir just… shows up at your place when you put up the signal?”  


“HA HA YEAH weird, right? I’m so glad it worked! I think it’s going to work, at least.”

 _Okay Marinette here’s your chance_. “Do you think that would work on Ladybug, too?”

Adrien’s heart stopped beating, leaving his stride to falter and flutter to an awkward stumble. When it returned, it made up for lost time by shoving all the beats it had missed into one single devastating wub-dup as all the blood in his body went from where it currently was to somewhere further along his circulatory system at approximately the speed of light.

 _Oh my damn… what if that_ could _work?_

“U-uh, whoa I uh…” _Dammit, Adrien! Think! It is weird to be into Ladybug when you’re on a date with Marinette!_ “I mean, uh…”

“You never know, she might show up,” said Marinette, who was extremely confident that she would. “Y-you could give it a try sometime?” _Oh great, stutter’s back_.

“W-well, I don’t want to make it--I mean I don’t--but well, we’re dating now, right? A-and I mean, you know I kind of h-have a thing for Ladybug…”

“Well, yeah, Adrien, but that’s a celebrity crush thing, you know? I-it’s a freebie. Doesn’t c-count.” They were close to the bakery, now, crossing through the nearby park. “A-and it’d be k-kinda cool for my b-b-boyfriend to have a f-fling with Ladybug, you know.”

Adrien had an immediate need to take a very small cold shower on one very specific part of his anatomy. That very physical reaction had three very powerful emotional causes.

The first: _I know from the party that Marinette’s into Ladybug._

The second: _And she’s apparently into the idea of_ me _being with Ladybug_.

The third: _Boyfriend!_

“I-I don’t want to detract from our d-date, you know, b-but--”

“Hey Adrien, celebrities crushes are free, remember?” Marinette looked at him with luminous blue eyes, a gaze almost smoking with implications. “W-we’re dating now, so if you ask her…” She pulled him close to her, leaning both of their shoulders against the wall of her bakery. “And she’s interested…” She raised her face to his, tugging him gently downwards. “Just tell her your girlfriend said it was okay.”

Her lips met his in their second ever kiss, more or less. Even without the tantalizing pillar of croquembouche between them (it lay unassuming to the side), the feeling of his lips on hers rippled another frisson of electricity through her, arcing through her whole body through the soles of her feet up her legs and what was between them, along her spine and through her lips, and thence into Adrien and back again. This kiss was harder, more intentional, and more passionate, as Marinette felt a very welcome and familiar firmness pressing into her hips.

“My girlfriend?” Adrien whispered into her lips, when they broke after what might have been moments or minutes or years.

“If you’ll be my boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around him, sinking her fingers into soft wool and her face into his collarbone.

Leaning against the bakery, he kissed his yes into her lips. But Marinette wasn’t quite finished.

“And if you get a visit from Ladybug,” she added between current-sparking meetings of their lips, “it’s absolutely fine by me.” She ran her hands into his hair, savoring the feeling of his arm around her waist, the other sliding up her spine to stroke the back of her neck. “As long as you tell me _all_ about it.”

He kissed his absolute delight with that arrangement into her lips in a satisfied moan that turned into a purr as she felt herself melt against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooooh la la!
> 
> Hey everyone! Keeping Arnold, chapter 2, is up! Give it a read! I am INCREDIBLY thrilled by lachesism's writing and the new art that goes with each chapter! Find it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7331095/chapters/16652533
> 
> I'm very excited for the next few chapters--Adrien's party is going to be a work of art. Or at least a hot mess. We might have a planning chapter in ch 19, and start the party itself in ch 20. Very exciting!
> 
> And don't worry. We'll find out what Chloe's been up to.
> 
> (I have never, in my life, written a line that made me laugh as hard as "Internally, they were hollerin’.")


	19. In Which The Date Relocates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The date continues, but Tom and Sabine's place is not necessarily ideal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter migrates from ridiculous to moderately sinful AND ridiculous.
> 
> I couldn't quite manage to figure skins all late in the day, and I really wanted to publish this, so I'm using ugly basic HTML formatting. I couldn't use the bold/not bold division I've done before, because two people were texting who were present in the same space, and it didn't work right for me. So now, it is a bit awkward. Please forgive me.

_“My girlfriend?” Adrien whispered into her lips, when they broke after what might have been moments or minutes or years._

_“If you’ll be my boyfriend.” She wrapped her arms around him, sinking her fingers into soft wool and her face into his collarbone._

_Leaning against the bakery, he kissed his yes into her lips. But Marinette wasn’t quite finished._

_“And if you get a visit from Ladybug,” she added between current-sparking meetings of their lips, “it’s absolutely fine by me.” She ran her hands into his hair, savoring the feeling of his arm around her waist, the other sliding up her spine to stroke the back of her neck. “As long as you tell me all about it.”_

_He kissed his absolute delight with that arrangement into her lips in a satisfied moan that turned into a purr as she felt herself melt against him._

* * *

It occurred to Marinette that she probably should have told her parents that she was bringing a boy home.

It’s not that they were unprepared, of course. Within moments of opening the door, she and Adrien were awash with treats. Pillows had been fluffed. Beverages had been set out. Tom had pulled up Ultimate Mecha Strike III before Marinette could even get out a “Do you remember Adrien?” Of course they did. Of course they remembered Adrien.

“Oh Marinette! I didn’t know you were bringing Adrien over! What a lovely surprise!” said Sabine, not surprised at all.

“Adrien, my boy! Good to see you! Are you here to learn any more gaming tips from Steel Thumbs Tom?” Tom clapped the considerably slighter boy on the shoulder. “Come over anytime!”

Marinette and Adrien stood in the doorway, barely a “Hello Mama, hello Papa!”, barely a “Hello Mrs. Cheng, Hello Mr. Dupain,” before being smothered in a cavernous Tom embrace. As Sabine dragged them into the living room, waving off Marinette’s protestations that they were just there to hang out, Tom produced an immense cake, left over from the day’s sales at the boulangerie. Sabine scooted them onto two stools, deploying plates for Tom’s cake, when she noticed the foil-wrapped croquembouche.

“Oh, did you two already eat?” she said, bending down to pick up the foil-wrapped pastry of _evidence_.

… Evidence of nothing, of course, besides the fact that it was a _courtship confection_.

Adrien answered first, blind to the implications. “Oh! Yeah! We went to this little cafe by the Champs Elysees, had coffee and Marinette ordered this amazing pastry, a croquem--”

“AH HA HA HA it was a Gâteau St. Honoré, yep!” interrupted Marinette, frantically. “Just a regular, no connotations pastry! Yep!”

Through the corner of his eye, Adrien peered at her, and she gave his hand a small, desperate squeeze and a panicked raise of the eyebrow. He said no more, smiling, mumbling something about “oh yeah, that’s what it’s called.” Marinette, of course, would know the right pastry to tell her parents--he’d have to ask her about that. He sure _thought_ it had been a croquembouche…

“Oh, that sounds so nice! Well, no matter, you should still have this cake, it’s very good. Some of Tom’s best work.”

Marinette tipped her head down, smiling to herself and giving Adrien’s hand another squeeze. “It was _very_ nice.” She snuck a glance over at Adrien, who had been sneaking a glance at her. They turned away in surprise, not sure how much to blush, and how much to giggle, their hands still intertwined.

* * *

“Seen enough yet? This tree branch is getting less comfortable the longer you sit on my shoulders.”

“If you can think of a better way to stare into Marinette’s third-floor windows, I’d be happy to hear them, _robofoutrer_.”

“Look I admitted that _in confidence_!”

“In confidence _at a party_ , beau. Now hold still. Mama’s got some spying to do.”

Nino adjusted his seat, re-balancing Alya on his shoulders. The balled-up trench coat did little to cut the jaggedness of the tree branch he sat on, and as pleasant as it was having Alya’s thighs wrapped around his head, he normally didn’t find himself in that position when she was staring through binoculars at two other people, and she normally wasn’t balancing her whole weight on him. Nino liked to consider himself reasonably in-shape, but an entire girlfriend’s worth of kilos was compressing his spine a little too intensely into a burl. At least she wiggled every once in awhile, which was quite nice.

He pressed his hands into her thighs, giving them a squeeze to grab her attention.

“What are they even doing?”

Alya squished her thighs around his neck, eliciting a brief “urk” before she answered. She had propped her elbows up on a nearby branch, holding up her binoculars to see into the Dupain-Cheng residence; she had an acceptable view of the premises.

“Still not much. They finished the cake and it looks like they’re Mecha Striking now. Can’t tell who’s winning, it looks like they’re both pretty distracted. Also stay still.”

“ _Foutre_ , they didn’t make it to the bedroom yet? Looks like you owe me a croissant.”

“I will concede that you are owed a croissant, but I’m also pretty confused. I was pretty sure that she was just going to drag Adrien up the side of the house to her balcony, honestly. Wonder what stopped her…”

* * *

Max would be disgusted. Neither of them could chain a combo to save their lives and even after an hour of skirmishing they were both somehow only level two. Marinette could handily smoke Adrien at Ultimate Mecha Strike III any day of the week, but she was slightly too obliterated by the knowledge that _this_ time their gaming was taking place on an actual _date._ Whenever she was about to land a killing combo, his leg would touch hers, or she would see him pinch the tip of his tongue between his lips or _something_ and she would flail helplessly for long, dangerous moments.

Adrien wasn't in any better shape. Whenever he tried to let loose one of the combos he'd practiced, Marinette would inevitably crinkle her nose or gasp or her elbow would stroke against his, and he would have to cross his legs, or drop his controller to his lap to prevent an unwelcome Player Three from joining their date.

Well… maybe that particular Player Three wouldn't be unwelcome. But…

He glanced over his shoulder towards the hallway, where two pairs of eyes and one mustache quickly whipped themselves out of view. _Probably shouldn't do anything with my… uh… joystick when Marinette’s parents are right there._

To his right, a plate of cookies had appeared. How had they done that? For such a huge man, Tom could sure sneak around.

Another light, muffled gasp met Marinette as she turned to check on her parents, or rather, checking on her parents checking on her. A quiche had been deposited on the back of the sofa. _Seriously, papa--how do you manage that?_ With a sigh, she paused and took the slice of quiche, taking a bite and offering the rest to Adrien. Adrien’s ability to beam a smile at her for the entire time he was scarfing down a treat continued to impress her.

Sneaking another glance to discourage parental espionage, Marinette gently upped the ante. At least, upped it as much as she could manage with awake parents in the house.

Absently fighting Adrien’s cat-mech with one hand, she pulled a light afghan over them with her other, sliding her legs over Adrien’s as she did so. She reveled in the warmth, both from the knit covering and from Afrien’s skin so close to her own. If she only moved her leg a tiny little bit…

“TIME UP! DRAW!” declared the announcer. The most recent round had ended with neither player doing any damage, or making any moves. Adrien had paused, mouth half-cookied, eyes wide and bright at Marinette's legs laid over his lap. Marinette could give him a fun little surprise if she moved her calf a little bit closer...

There was a galette balanced on her knees. How had they _done_ that!? She turned. A croissant was on the end table. She turned back. Three eclairs were balanced on Adrien’s shoulder. Her eyes darted around the room. Profiteroles, gougères, Napoleons--everywhere.

Marinette’s legs on Adrien’s, while nice, couldn’t drown out the substantial discomfort she felt from more and more baked goods appearing on the sofa. Each one a silent reminder that her parents were _right there_ . Hovering. _Observing_ . Her game was entirely off, she couldn’t even manage to assertively demolish her own _date_ , and she was _pretty_ sure it had everything to do with the ever-growing cocoon of pastries surrounding them, and nothing to do with the lucky charm she’d lent him. This wasn’t precisely how she’d wanted the evening to end.

With a small sigh, she rummaged around in her purse for her phone, giving Tikki a gentle pat on the head while she did so. Shaking her head at herself for texting her date while _on_ the date in question, she texted Adrien.

**Marinette: So I’m a little weirded out by my parents hovering over us.**

**Marinette:  And all of these pastries.**

Adrien had been trying to fight her mech with his right hand as he stuffed an eclair into his face with his left, neither with much success. He shook himself to alertness as he felt his phone buzz a notification. He checked it, turning to Marinette with an “ummm.”

She had anticipated that, and raised her eyebrows at him, inclining her head back to his phone.

**Marinette: For secrecy, Adrien!**

**Marinette: I know it’s super stereotypical but work with me here.**

Adrien smiled, but replied, absentmindedly maneuvering his mech around an equally distracted Marinette as he focused on his phone.

**Adrien: It’s okay! I’m still having fun!**

**Marinette: I am too! I’m really glad you’re here!**

**Marinette: Fun is good!**

**Marinette: But I don’t really like them just… being RIGHT THERE**

**Marinette: because we could be doing other things**

Adrien shot her a glance. The meaning in it was impossible to mistake; she was sure her own was similarly obvious.

**Adrien: ...yeah good point**

He squeezed her calf, earning a trembling little shiver that worked its way up her body and back again.

**Adrien: Do you want to see if I can sneak you into my place? There’s probably some way to do it.**

**Adrien: I guess we could crawl through the window maybe?**

**Marinette: Adrien, those windows are like twenty feet up**

**Adrien: hahahah good point**

**Adrien: definitely not an option nope**

_Nice, Adrien_ , he told himself. _Give her more hints that you regularly leave your room in a skintight black catsuit why don’t you?_

_Shut up self it’s your first date,_ he countered _. You’re buzzed on sugar and the fact that a girl likes you for real. Take it easy_.

_Yeah okay_ , he agreed.

**Marinette: so what if we**

**Marinette: kinda**

**Marinette: kept the date going, but on our phones**

**Adrien: ?**

**Marinette: like you go back to your place**

**Marinette: but we keep talking and stuff**

**Marinette: until whenever**

**Adrien: Huh**

He gave the idea some thought. He was pretty much at the limit of the number of pastries he could fit in his body for one day, and they couldn’t get much more than hand-holdy while Marinette’s parents were around…

But phones could send _pictures_. And he knew of one picture in particular he’d be very interested for Marinette to see.

**Adrien: I think that sounds fun! **

**Marinette: We could, like, send each other things**

**Marinette: cute little texts…**

**Marinette: trashy memes…**

**Marinette: ...other pictures…**

**Adrien: yes**

**Adrien: yes good**

**Adrien: yes definitely that EXACTLY what I was thinking**

Marinette felt the evidence of exactly what he was thinking pressing against her leg, splayed across his lap. She smiled a devious little smirk to herself. The game, at this point, was entirely forgotten.

**Marinette: Oh I can tell. Let me walk you to the door.**

“WELP IT SURE IS GETTING LATE,” declared Marinette

“WOW YOU’RE RIGHT MARINETTE,” replied Adrien, convincingly.

“YOU’VE GOT A BUSY MODEL SCHEDULE YOU BETTER GET HOME!”

“I PROBABLY HAD BETTER!”

“LET ME WALK YOU TO THE DOOR THEN!”

“GOSH HOW SWEET! THANK YOU FOR THE HOSPITALITY MR. DUPAIN, MRS. CHENG!”

Marinette grinned with a secret special pride for her Adrien--her _boyfriend_ \--as he very chivalrously thanked her parents for their hospitality, and the veritable duffle bag of baked treats they loaded him down with. Tom and Sabine waved them out the door, Marinette leading Adrien by the hand.

By the side door of the bakery, they stood, hands warming each others hands to a sweaty comfortable tangle.

She could already feel the reluctance building, feel herself become less and less willing to led Adrien actually _leave_ when he could feasibly _not do that_ . Sure, her parents would eventually sarcophagize them in a croissant and choux sepulchre, but was that really so bad as long as _Adrien_ got to stick around? They could always eat themselves out, if they got desperate.

The idea of _eating out_ brought a very different mouth-based activity to Marinette’s mind and she pondered again whether Adrien’s kisses would so obliterate her no matter _where_ he kissed her. Her boy definitely had a glorious and nimble pair of lips, and a tongue with an absurd amperage that traced sparks down her soul every time it touched her own--the thought of what that same live current could do when applied to her earlobe… her neck… her collarbone…

… Lower…

_Can’t be thinking right now need to stop thinking_ , she thought, twining her fingers through Adrien’s and pulling them behind her back, the motion tugging his lips into hers.

As they kissed, she felt him smiling into her lips, and felt herself smiling back. This kiss, just as necessary, just as intentional, as their previous two, finally set and cemented that this _was_ her reality, that this _was_ happening, and that there was unlikely to _ever_ be a date as perfect and pristine as this one would be. The pure _satisfaction_ of placing the perfect piping on a masterpiece of a cake, of answering a question with the perfect reply and a proud and glorious exclamation point, of the final stitch that brought an entire garment into form. They hadn’t been able to sneak away to Adrien’s, and they’d been plied with pastry and attention from her parents, but those missteps didn’t make it any less perfect; it was perfect despite of and because of them. It honed her needs and every shining spike of feeling she had for Adrien into flawless quintessence, and she would not have changed anything. This kiss did not obliterate her so totally and utterly as their first had done, and she reckoned she mostly could remember her name and major facts of import, but it was the signature on a grand proclamation that this would be _good_ , and that particular John Hancock was worth a wheelbarrow of reality-crushing kisses.

_That_ was a kiss to end a date on.

It quieted towards the end, the rushing pureness of that emotion finally receding--not melting away, not lessening, but merely withdrawing its immensity from her for long enough that she could appreciate what it had been, and how strong it would become. They breathed into each other, savoring that they were there and nothing else, and rested their foreheads together. Adrien’s voice, when she heard it, almost startled her.

“This was so great.”

“Yeah…” she drifted off. “I…”

Words were inadequate.

“Me too,” said Adrien. He smiled close enough to her skin that she could feel it, eyes closed.

“I’m… I’m just so glad. To finally do this. To… you.”

“And we’re not done yet.” Adrien pulled back with a smile she could hear in his voice. She felt his look upon her, and her eyes opened under his gaze, and he drew her up against his chest, hands wrapped around the small of her back, protected and warm against a chill in the air neither of them were close to feeling.

“Nope.” She couldn’t help but smile; her lips, if not kissing, had to be smiling.

“Do you want to know why I really liked your suggestion?”

“Why?”

He leaned in close, lips next to her ear. “Because I bet you’re wearing your lucky ladybug bra right now…”

Marinette pinked up and took a quick gasp of air. “How--uh… lucky guess! Lucky!” she smacked her shoulder against him in a faux-aggrieved smack, using the opportunity to shift her face up closer by his neck.

“Well I’m feeling very, very lucky right now,” he said,pulling her closer into his neck.

“But I am absolutely--” He tilted his head, whispering softly into her ear.

“--Positively--” A soft kiss landed on Marinette’s earlobe, exploding in a rush that trickled down her skin.

“--Certain--” Another kiss, on her jawline. She felt her chin lift, easing access for Adrien to plant more brilliant bright kisses against her skin, wherever he wanted.

“--That you are not wearing the panties.”

It was everything Marinette had hoped for and more when she had left those panties in Adrien’s duffle bag at her party. He’d found them, and loved them, and was now _teasing_ her with that glorious golden fact. Perfect, multiplied.

She found herself pressing Adrien against a brick wall across from her side door, the whole length of her body pressed against him, up on her tiptoes to better seal her mouth to his. Her hands had slid up and around him, one hand bunched in the fuzzy material of his sweater, the other a possessive vise on his hip. His hands were around her, too, one slipping gently up her back while the other circled her waist. All in all, he had managed their sudden making-out situation with considerably more grace. Even so, she could definitely tell that he was enjoying what she was doing--unless the brick wall had sprouted a new lobe at about hip-height, which Adrien was now straddling, so that it pressed _directly_ into her hips. Given her experience with failed hand-holding at her party, Marinette was _pretty_ _damn sure_ she knew _exactly_ what it was she was feeling.

The chill of the autumn air--never much of a concern to the two--was entirely banished by a very personal furnace they were sharing. They found each other mumbling quick wordless sounds into each other, a foundational and fundamental language of passion more deeply intimate than any conscious syllables could be. In between sinusoidal peaks of the kiss, when Marinette recovered enough of herself to exist even the tiniest bit, she managed one basic tidbit of thought: _Kissing cannot_ possibly _be like this all the time… right?_

It wasn’t a complaint--more of a concern for how anyone could get anything _done_ if kisses were all like that. Or a sense of awe that people could get _used_ to it.

They separated eventually, eyes opening and filled with each other, the serenity of the moment broken only by Adrien’s panicked “hurrrk.”

Marinette followed his eyes up and to her right, to the second floor of her house, where one large man and one small woman were pressed against the window, faces mashed against the glass, staring at them.

They had the good grace to duck out of sight moments after they realized they’d been spotted, of course. But moments later, their eyes peeked down at the two teenagers from just above the sill.

Marinette sighed internally. _Of course_. Her parents were sweet, but… attentive.

_Very_ attentive.

Their teen reflexes had kicked in, instinct separating her from Adrien as soon as she detected the Dadgaze and Momsight upon them. Awkward again, they made their temporary goodbyes.

“This was so great,” said Adrien, every word a blessing to Marinette. “Can we do this again?”

“Definitely! A lot!” She lightly vibrated in place.

“A whole lot!” Adrien reached out for her hands again, squeezing them with a smile on his lips.

“So, uh…” What do you do when the date _is_ over, but you are absolutely _not_ done?

Obviously, it becomes time to text.

“Leave your phone on. I’m not quite ready to be done with my first date.”

“A-absolutely! Me neither! Date… phone. Phone date. Texts. Uh huh.” _Dammit, this again, serves me right for wasting my lips on anything that isn’t kissing_ , she thought.

After double and triple checking that they had each others’ numbers right, they shared an extremely modest kiss which was nevertheless thrilling. And Adrien walked home, a skip _definitely_ in his step. For her own part, Marinette had to remind herself to use the door and not just float up to her balcony on the power of love.

Her date had been _so good_ , and Adrien was going to be her _boyfriend_ , and she wasn’t even panicking about asking him to be her boyfriend _even a little bit_ yet. File that insecurity right the _foutre_ away!

She reminded herself that gravity still applied, and skipped up the stairs, past her parents (who were trying their best to be inconspicuous, by washing dishes and whistling nonchalantly), and up the stairs to her room.

“So Marinette, did you have a good ti--” started Sabine.

“Welp I sure am tired boy where did the time go better get to bed get some rest well goodnight!” replied Marinette, entirely innocent of purpose and deed.

Tom and Sabine raised their eyebrows at each other, sharing that quick secret communication that veteran parents have about their children. Marinette made similar exits quite often, of course--the only surprise here was that they didn’t hear her sewing machine start up immediately.

_Of course no sewing machine tonight_ , thought Marinette _. For a date that good, do you want it done_ quick? _Or do you want it done_ right _?_

Marinette had capital-P Plans to get it done _right_ tonight.

She shucked herself to the skin in record time, clambering up to her bunk nude (but prepared to be _very much_ naked) and nestling under the covers with her phone. Tikki giggled, and slipped out of sight into a cookie jar. With a profound effort of will, Marinette stopped herself from polishing her bijou into a wafer, holding herself to only clenching her legs (and more intimate parts) together, and balling her hands into the comforter. Eventually, she had to resort to wrapping part of her sheets around her hands to keep them occupied, then resting her head on them for another layer of security against their amorous advances. But the sensation of having her hands trapped behind her head reminded her a little too much of her stumbling upon Alya and Nino, which had a counterproductive effect on her need to touch herself.

_...I may be trying to tell myself something…_

_… Nah_

The minutes Adrien took to get back to his house took hours. In the meantime, Marinette raced through script after script, planning in advance every possible flirtation and innuendo she could convey through text. She wrote and rewrote a War and Peace of short messages in that interim, predicting and re-predicting Adrien’s replies, imagining (with intense joy) how flustered her texts would make him, and how quivering of a wreck she would be after each of his.

All the while, her roommate/mentor/best friend/supernatural companion contented herself giggling at yet _another_ Ladybug’s foibles, and guzzling frangipane. _I really lucked out with a bakery Ladybug_ , she thought to herself, nestled snugly in between piles of macarons.

Marinette was halfway through a thought of _Fuck it, I’m going to need to take the edge off before Adrien texts me,_ reaching down to the crux of her legs, when her phone, and then her entire nervous system, vibrated.

She whipped her phone to her face fast enough that it blasted a rush of air into her face hard enough to flip her bangs. It was, of course, Alya.

Marinette deflated slightly.

_**Alya: Girl! How did it go! DETAILS** _

_**Alya: Dont hold out on a** **soeur** **from another** **monsieur**_

**Marinette: ALYA HES ABOUT TO TEXT ME**

**Marinette: I CANT TALK**

**Marinette: WE’RE GOING TO SEXT OR SOMETHING I DON’T KNOW**

**Marinette: AAAAAAA**

_**Alya: AAAAAA!!!!** _

**Marinette: U UNDERSTAND RGHT I GOTTA GO BYE**

_**Alya: Say no more** _

_**Alya: I believe in u** _

As soon as the last text was sent, her phone buzzed again. Her heartbeat, only recently settled to a reasonable pace, purred back into Formula One rpm territory when she saw the name. It crested in a truly dangerous and physically improbable speed when she read the text.

**Adrien: Do you want to know how I knew you weren’t wearing your ladybug panties?**

Only barely recovered from Adrien’s physical presence, Marinette already craved more, anything more. What kind of proof would he provide? How had he found them? The repercussions of her little present, the implications of his discovery, consumed her.

**Marinette: YES VERY MUCH**

**Marinette: GO AHEAD AND TELL ME THATS FINE**

**Adrien: Okay here you go**

An image loaded itself onto her phone. It was Adrien, from perfect knees to perfect abs. He’d taken off or pulled up his shirt, so that his little blonde happy trail drew the eye inevitably downwards. His pants were still on ( _Damn_ ) ( _No, be patient_ ), but his belt and the buttons were unbuckled.

In the image, Adrien had cocked a hip, slipping the waist of his trousers down almost to his thigh. That sight, of course, would have given Marinette a riotously perilous anime nosebleed on even her most restrained of days, but her perfect little model hadn’t stopped there. His pose--hip cocked, pants slipping--also revealed what he was wearing underneath.

Peeking out from above the belt loops, revealing an expanse of thigh under his cocked hip, a perfectly manicured thumb hooked into the elastic waistband, Adrien was sporting a _very_ familiar pair of bikini cut, bright red, black-spotted underwear.

* * *

**Marinette: !!!!!!!!!!**

**Marinette: !!!**

**Marinette: I**

**Marinette: if you dont hear from me for a few minutes you know why im gone right**

Adrien smiled to himself, impossibly pleased with his picture. His little undies secret had been a delicious treat all throughout the date, and Marinette’s reaction was everything he’d hoped it would be. He had raced back home, stripped to just his pants, and posed for this picture with a speed and grace normally reserved for his super-self. Plagg was cackling at his various absurd behaviors and giving him a nub-on-nub slow clap.

Adrien ignored him.

**Adrien: I have a pretty good idea, yeah ;)**

**Adrien: take your time taking care f yourself**

**Adrien: I’ll be here all night**

**Adrien: long as you’ll have me**

Her response took a while, several slow minutes that burned with shocking intensity. He knew, as certain as he knew Plagg would demand cheese, _exactly_ what Marinette was doing to herself. That knowledge--and its effects on him--were the only thing keeping his slacks still dangling from his hips. His _petit Agreste_ made quite the adept little coat hanger, it turned out.

Gingerly moving his erection away from the zipper, Adrien depantsed himself, inviting Plagg to feast on the fourteen wheels of camembert he had left in the little cat kwami’s favorite trashcan. He slipped into the bathroom for at least a modicum of privacy from kwami harassment, drawing a bath for himself and spending slightly too long pondering alternate uses of his bath oils. As soon as he slipped into his bubbly cauldron, his phone dinged.

**Marinette: yes always**

**Marinette: ok**

**Marinette: ok**

**Marinette: that was**

**Marinette: whew**

**Marinette: warn a girl**

**Adrien: never**

**Marinette: okay thats fine too**

**Marinette: do you want to know the funniest thing tho**

**Adrien: ?**

**Marinette: I was planning on wearing my matching lucky bra and panties**

**Marinette: but darnit I couldnt find the panties**

**Adrien: ooooooops**

**Marinette: and I hate to not match**

**Marinette: so…**

Adrien opened the picture she’d sent him. She’d matched his framing, shooting the picture of herself from knees to belly, but had posed to the side. From what he could tell, she wasn’t wearing her sweater--or anything else--on top, but everything else in the photo drew the eye noticeably lower. One hand lifted the hem of the skirt high up, past her hip, while the other flattened the front against herself, keeping her from flashing the camera.

The pose itself--like his own--was already _extremely_ easy on the eyes, but what her framing had accomplished was to draw his eye up the length of her leg, up the snug wool of her socks, savoring the gentle swell of her thigh and hip, all the way until his eyes reached the skirt she had pulled up to her waist. At no point had that gorgeous expanse of skin been broken by underwear.

Marinette had covered herself with considerable modesty, only revealing the side of her leg and her hip. Entirely PEGI-12. Completely appropriate for most audiences! But the sight of that length of skin, and the knowledge that for their entire date, while he’d been wearing her panties, that Marinette had been wearing _nothing at all_ under the skirt, set off a dangerously powerful shudder through his whole body. She had draped those legs, in that skirt, wearing _nothing else_ , right across his lap. He boggled.

This was an _excellent_ coda to the date.

His eyes soaked in every detail, every thread of cloth on her, noticing the ladybug bra--so recently decorating her, she’d told him--thrown casually against her chaise. He counted four freckles across her hip, and saw the impression of her sock’s weave in her skin. He _murdered_ previously-held-dear memories to make room for the image of a long, toned thigh going up and up and up with no bridge of lingerie. A perfect, a flawless view. His own pic he’d sent her was nothing, in comparison. His phone was buzzing again.

**Marinette: (full disclosure I had to put the skirt and thigh-highs back on to recreate that particular tableau)**

**Marinette: (because I wasn’t necessarily… dressed for company)**

**Adrien: … um so if im slow tying**

**Adrien: its cuz im using 1 hand**

**Adrien: specifically because of what you just sent me**

**Adrien: and that thing you just said**

**Marinette: !!!**

**Marinette: same**

**Adrien: and if i don’t answer for a while**

**Adrien: it’s probably because something you sent me made me slip in my bathtub**

**Marinette: …**

**Marinette: so youre taking a bath huh**

**Adrien: :)**

**Marinette: and you might slip**

**Adrien: its a constant worry**

**Marinette: i guess that**

**Marinette: maybe you should have someone there**

**Marinette: to...**

**Marinette: ...make sure you’re safe**

**Adrien: it would be an immense relief**

**Marinette: uh so**

**Marinette: your security system is still workign though right**

**Marinette: because im pertty okay at sprinting and ic ould probably be there in like a few jsut saying**

**Adrien: … its still on**

**Adrien: … but it won’t be for my party**

**Adrien: just putting that out tehre**

**Adrien: *there**

**Adrien: (one hand)**

Adrien felt himself sweating from a heat unrelated to the bath. _How am I being this forward?! This is great!_

**Marinette: why Adrien I**

**Marinette: (sorry dropped my phone)**

**Marinette: (one hand)**

**Marinette: i think that i may need to see this tub of yours**

**Marinette: ours is barely big enough for me**

**Adrien: I could probably fit our whole side of the class in mine**

**Adrien: minus Ivan**

**Marinette: omg**

**Marinette: don’t tell Alya**

**Marinette: or do, do definitely tell her**

**Marinette: but uh**

**Marinette: if you just want some**

**Marinette: personal supervision**

**Marinette: one-on-one you know**

**Marinette: then I’m your lady**

**Adrien: you are definitely my lady**

* * *

_Huh, that sounds familiar_ , thought Marinette.

… _Nah_.

* * *

_Ladybug would probably think it’s weird I said that to Marinette_ , thought Adrien.

_… Nah, probably no big deal_.

**Marinette: good yes good**

**Marinette: i am yes this is good yes**

**Adrien: And if you do join me in the tub**

**Adrien: we can maybe try holdnig hands again**

**Adrien: if you maybe want to**

**Adrien: uh**

**Adrien: miss my hand again. Like last weekend.**

_Holy_ foutre _did I just write that? Did I just invite Marinette to grab my… yikes_.

_Adrien you cad how dare you now youve probably ruined everything and Marinette will_ \--

**Marinette: YEP**

**Marinette: IM SUPER BAD AT HAND HOLDING SO PREPARE FOR THAT**

**Marinette: Hey i got hands over here too so just**

**Marinette: Give some holding them a shot sometime**

**Marinette: u know**

**Marinette: just grab whatever**

**Marinette: i cant believe i jsut said that**

**Marinette: … tru tho**

* * *

_I cannot fucking believe I just typed that oh my god I used English_ , thought Marinette.

_Is this the worst flirting or the best flirting in the world I can’t tell_.

The thought of sharing a bath tub with Adrien, trying to hold hands, and “missing,” gave Marinette an _excellent_ idea of how to spend the time waiting for Adrien to respond. _Oooh that’s right Adrien, my hands are right up here, go ahead and reach for them…_

* * *

For his part, Adrien had been staring red-faced at his phone for the better part of a minute, pupils shrunk to pinpricks, afraid that if he moved his hips even the tiniest bit, a stray caress of water or bubbles would trigger his own personal crotch jacuzzi.

No, that idea of roaming hands was far, _far_ too perfect for anything other than an eminently intentional climax. The best he could do, in his arch-tumescent state, was to raise gently and slowly out of the tub, aim himself somewhere other than the bath water, and completely defile everything in a line from the tub to the wall.

As he wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft, he immediately felt himself peaking. In a moment, he paired the rushing, spine-shaking release of a thoroughly wild orgasm with the desperate, flailing swipe of his other hand, to get his phone out of the line of fire. When he was finished bucking his hips, he looked over his handiwork and was somewhat pleased with his distance and coverage--especially since he had re-spackled a considerable portion of the school’s bathroom wall that afternoon. _What the hell have I been eating?_

He left the _noixx_ -mess for later, and returned to the bath and his phone, both hands able to attend to his phone now.

**Adrien: So uh**

**Adrien: im typing with two hands now**

**Adrien: kinda stopped needing to only type with one hand**

**Adrien: if you catch my drift**

**Adrien: but uh in a few minutes ill probably go back to typing with one hand**

**Adrien: just need a little downtime.**

**Adrien: well… maybe half-down time.**

**Marinette: !!!! yes!**

**Marinette: good! Yeah!**

**Marinette: um so…**

**Marinette: since you have two hands free to type…**

**Marinette: … what would you do if I was there right now?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mari why you using basic white boy lines?
> 
> various things:  
> \- Don't forget the difference between "nude" and "naked"!  
> \- I honestly didn't know I would be writing about masturbation so much when I started this thing.  
> \- I feel like I definitely do not have my finger on the pulse of hip teen texting styles. I apologize for any discrepancies.  
> \- Next chapter should start Adrien's party!  
> \- I am still eternally wild and wonky for Keeping Arnold (chapter 3 is up! http://archiveofourown.org/works/7331095/chapters/17589292)


	20. In Which We Get This Party Started

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien deal with the fallout from their late night of texting, and things heat up in the classroom. Adrien puts the finishing touches on his party preparations early, and decides to make the most of his extra time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some raunchiness! But not too much. That's for the next chapters of the party.

**_Adrien: So uh_ **

**_Adrien: im typing with two hands now_ **

**_Adrien: kinda stopped needing to only type with one hand_ **

**_Adrien: if you catch my drift_ **

**_Adrien: but uh in a few minutes ill probably go back to typing with one hand_ **

**_Adrien: just need a little downtime._ **

**_Adrien: well… maybe half-down time._ **

**_Marinette: !!!! yes!_ **

**_Marinette: good! Yeah!_ **

**_Marinette: um so…_ **

**_Marinette: since you have two hands free to type…_ **

**_Marinette: … what would you do if I was there right now?_ **

* * *

She didn’t get much sleep. Her night had been full of thoughts of a boy in a bathtub, telling her things she  _ really _ wanted to hear. She had texted back and forth with Adrien for hours, holding back from the full scope of her thirst, but sharing thoughts and wants she hadn’t even communicated to Alya. Throughout the night they vacillated between implying what they might do to each other when they were alone next time, and telling each other in a hundred different ways a hundred different times that they like each other. Like,  _ like _ -like each other. 

The more risque segments had kept her typing one-handed, and every once in awhile they would both take a break to take care of a mutually critical issue. There was very little which would flare Marinette’s desires like knowing that Adrien was playing with himself  _ right then _ thinking about _ her _ because of  _ what she’s said _ . No greater compliment could be paid--at least no sexual one. After they had both bid a weary farewell in the wee hours of the morning, Marinette scrolled through their text logs and Adrien’s picture in her ladybug panties, reliving the magic a few more times and grinding herself to a gelatinous puddle of raw nerves. 

In her cookie jar, Tikki giggled and said something about “setting a new record,” but Marinette was too climaxed out to pay attention.

She returned to consciousness aware of two things.

First: she had not gotten  _ nearly _ enough sleep.

Second: her day job as a seamstress and designer, her night job as a globally-competitive masturbator, and her super-job as a yo-yo-slinging heronie, were _ extremely  _ hard on her wrist.

Alternating between grumbles and sighs, she wrapped a compression bandage around her wrist and got ready for the day.

* * *

There was some damage to the class at large, it seemed. Alya had a couple scrapes on her arms, as if she had been grasping some hard, potentially bark-covered object. Nino complained of an undefined tailbone-based injury, and potential spinal compression, but was dodgy about the details. Marinette herself had immobilized her various right-hand joints, and was determinedly a southpaw for the day. Nathanael had a bruise on his forehead from where his head had collapsed onto the desk one too many times. Kim and Alix, as always, had some form of damage from their various athletic activities. And then Mylene and Ivan showed up.

Mylene entered first, walking awkwardly on crutches. Marinette and Alya jumped up to help her into her chair and onto a pillow--Rose contributed her very pink cushion to the cause, cooing over her colorful, injured friend. 

She was surprisingly relaxed, even with her injury, but remained very evasive about what had happened, only specifying that she “must have stretched a little too much,” when Ivan walked in.

The big fella limped in, hunching over, holding a substantial ice pack over his groin. Everyone stared as he made his way to his seat, comfortably blocking Nath from their teacher’s line of sight. 

Injured though he was, he was beaming.

The entire class--those who had been at Marinette’s party, at least--started piecing it together at the same time. Mylene had “stretched too much.” Ivan was icing down his junk. Both of them were grinning and relaxed. Ivan was known to possess an  _ immense _ baguette, and he and Mylene had been  _ desperately _ trying to manage establishing the Consulate, or hell, go all the way to Trafalgar.

Alya connected all of the dots first, with a delighted shriek.

“Aaaaaa! Ivan! Mylene! You--yeah? Yeah! Oh my gosh, that’s so great!” she gushed over them, her friends blushing more and more immensely as the whole class started to understand. 

“Damn Ivan, nice! Where’s Napoleon?” added Nino. 

“The British will have something to say about this, I'm sure,” said Juleka. 

If Mylene had a pelvic injury, and Ivan’s groin was sore enough to need ice, they had  _ definitely  _ and  _ finally _ managed to pop that cherry.  _ Smash  _ that cherry. Goddamn  _ annihilate _ that cherry. Some combination of yoga, patience, and lube had  _ finally _ overcome the problems inherent in sealing the deal with Ivan’s fleshy Burj Khalifa. 

Everyone present applauded, excluding Marinette with her jacked-up jack-off wrist. Hands unavailable, she cheered.

“What’s everyone clapping about?” asked the chiming of a glorious golden bell.  

The accolades continued as Marinette turned to Adrien. She had never been more intimate with someone as she had with him last night--at least in terms of sexy texts. They had opened up to each other, personally and romantically, in a unique and meaningful way. And the day after, it was weird.

Question forgotten, applause ignored, Adrien flushed a brilliant Marinette red, and Marinette did her best to blush an identical crimson. He bit his lip, Marinette subconsciously matching the gesture. 

“H-hi, Marinette,” he whispered, barely audible over Mylene and Ivan being congratulated. 

“Hhhheeeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyy,” she managed not to stutter out. 

“It’s g-good to see you.” He was smiling, still blushing, still bashful. Marinette thrilled inside to be able to elicit that reaction, the same she’d had to him for so long. Which, of course, she still had. His eyes flicked to her wrapped wrist, and his blush deepened.

“Mmmhmm!” Not trusting words, she focused on nodding and humming her agreement. A smile, almost uncomfortably large, split her face.

Adrien smiled back, a tender glowing expression that bathed her in warmth. His blush receded a tiny bit, but his hand went to the back of his neck.

And his right wrist was wrapped tight in a supportive splint.

* * *

Class was more distracting than usual. Knowing that Mylene and Ivan had finally managed to  _ foutre _ each other into minor medical care was a titillating enough fact, but Adrien showing up with a wrist injury was an even more vastly arousing fact. It  _ could _ have been from fencing, but it wasn’t--Adrien didn’t have fencing on Thursdays, and his wrists had been  _ fine _ on their date. It could have been from some  _ other _ accident, but it wasn’t. Marinette was over and done with her insecurities about how much Adrien might want her; his one-handed texting last night had dispelled any doubts that he had second thoughts about dating her. The fact that they had both wounded themselves with self-pleasuring was the glaze on the croquembouche of their burgeoning love affair, and Marinette couldn’t be more thrilled.

At least, not until the party.

The lesson was torturous, dragging on no matter how intently she stared at the clock, or at Adrien’s splint. After they’d been shushed for congratulating Ivan and Mylene, everyone quieted down. Even Chloe wasn’t distracting, or terrorizing, anyone with her basic Chloe-ness--her attention was again focused on her leatherbound book. Nothing even lightly pulled at Marinette’s gaze, nothing tried to drag it away from flitting thoughts of how,  _ exactly _ , Adrien had managed to sprain his wrist since last night.

When they were finally released for lunch, Ivan and Mylene disappeared under a swarm of teens asking details, offering congratulations, and recommending care routines for overworked body parts--Alix and Kim being the primary contributors to the last. Nino and Alya scampered along to join in the interrogation in the back of the class, while Sabrina tugged Chloe off somewhere, and Adrien and Marinette sat in place and blushed.

It’s not that they weren’t happy for Mylene and her sexually perilous partner--far from it. Rather, they didn’t quite know how to act. In the room between them was a substantial and embarrassing elephant; society has not sufficiently advanced for people to have a raucous sexual textual escapade, and be completely chill about it the day after. Even  _ without _ the additional classmate sex-tulpa hanging over Ivan and Mylene’s genital traumas, they could hardly have faced each other without confronting that absolute and terrifying monolith of  _ Oh my god that person masturbated thinking about me _ . Add Ivan’s prodigious tripod and Mylene’s notable blowleggedness, and the air was suffused with the fact that some real honest-to-goodness  _ sex _ had happened the night before. The reality of that truth, now open discussion, beat in Marinette’s veins faster than any blood ever had. 

Adrien turned around in his seat. 

“Hey, M-Marinette, do you want to eat lunch t-together maybe?” He reached back to cradle his neck, accidentally bonking himself in the temple with the stiffened brace of his splint. A giggle burst out of Marinette, unintentionally, followed shortly by one of his own.

“Yeah! Th-that’d be great!” she replied, holding herself back from drooling. He had been using that very hand on himself until  _ very _ late last night--he’d told her so. He’d told her so, after  _ she _ had told him what to do.

“Um,” he started, eloquently. “I hhhope your hand is okay.”

_ Adrien.  _ Rude _. Broaching such a subject! You cad! You fiend! I  _ demand _ that you defile me this instant! _

Instead of the witty retort she had planned, she laughed too hard, too fast, and too loud--only avoiding the greater embarrassment of being noticed by the fact that everyone was grilling the Mylene and Ivan about their romance boo-boos. Specifically, if they were going to try to kiss it and make it better.

(Yes, they were)

(But that might not make the swelling go down)

Eventually, Marinette clapped a hand over her mouth, managing to finally forestall her nervous laughter, and just start nodding. 

“I hope yours is, too,” she said, and then upped the ante. “Sssssooooooo… what happened to it?”

Adrien--already a healthy pink--did a passable impression of Ladybug’s suit, minus the dots. He sort of giggled, sort of mumbled a reply, over the course of several seconds. Something that, punctuated by helpless little snickers, might have been “fencing.”

A likely story.

“What was that?” asked Marinette. “I didn’t quite hear you.” She leaned forward, propping her chin on her (hale and hearty) left hand. Smiling sweetly, the picture of innocence even with her aggressive blush, she blinked at him.

He began visibly sweating. “Um, it was a… fencing. Fencing thing. Swords.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yyyeah, you know--just handling my sword. A lot. Really…” he paused for emphasis. “Really whacking it around.” A sly little smile crept across his lips. “And what about you?”

Marinette, as we know, is a planner. She’d been anticipating this question--and her response--since she’d wrapped the bandage around her wrist. Now, if only she could stick the delivery. She let her eyes drift to the side, hoping that she managed to be something like coy.

“It’s carpal tunnel, I think. Probably from sewing.” Okay--setup complete. Now, the killing blow. “Probably from… wrangling a little button all night.” 

Even over the gossip and gleeful shrieking of the other classmates, she could hear the pace of Adrien’s breath quicken, growing ragged. He stood up and leaned against her desk, elbows resting on the surface, scant centimeters away from hers.

“Maybe sometime I could come to your place and… watch you at work.”

It was Marinette’s turn to gasp for air. She felt her pulse and breath speed up in unison, her injured right hand gripping the wood of her desk hard enough to renew the ache. At her party, she and Adrien had looked at each other when they were masturbating… but that had been more about a connection than spectacle. And suddenly, Marinette was  _ very  _ interested in being a spectacle. Adrien watching her eyes as she moaned and writhed under her own fingers was one thing; his eyes all over her body as she did that would be something entirely different. 

And Marinette lived next door to the school. And the bakery was usually very busy during lunch. And they had an hour.

She leaned in close. “I have a l-little work to get done at lunch, actually, if you want to come up and… watch.”

Adrien was more familiar than anyone (besides Marinette herself) at how often she tended to do that  _ work _ .  _ There’s no way she’s hit five already today--I’d be helping out, probably! Yep. YEP _ .

“Yeah let’s, uh, go. That. Do that. See. Work.” He frantically scooped his various items into his bag, compact mirror, tablet, stylus, everything. “We go now we can go to place and be there yeah we should--”

“Uh uh uh, pretty boy, where are you going? We’ve got a party to plan.”

_ Alya. You fiend.  _ In that moment, Marinette and Adrien shared one single sentiment between them. Alya had insinuated herself slightly between them on the desk, backing Marinette into her seat and Adrien into sitting back on his own desk, facing the girls.

Marinette shot her best friend a look as significant as pouting lips and big blue eyes could accomplish. Alya was unfazed. She looked down at her petite friend, deliberately eyeing the brace wrapped around her wrist, and pursed her lips to the side, shaking her head. 

“Rein it in, sweet thing. This is important and you need to rest up for Saturday.”

“But how did you even--”

“GIRL it’s obvious! And it’ll be  _ worth it _ .” 

“Okay but I can use my left hand to mast--to sew! I’m ambidextrous!”

“Yeah, Marinette, but  _ he _ isn’t, is he?”

Adrien, self-consciously holding his bag in front of himself, waved awkwardly at the two girls less than a meter in front of him. His wrist was still conspicuously sprained and splinted. Hearing what Alya had just said, he glanced at his wrist with a small “oh” of understanding.

The prospect of having hands too sore and bruised to sneak off and grope Adrien loomed large and intimidating in Marinette’s mind.

_ Yeah… _ , she thought.  _ Probably should be saving ourselves for the party… _

Marinette grumbled a grumpy “I guess” to Alya, who was already tugging Adrien out of the classroom.

“Alright, Agreste we’ve got a party to plan so let’s chat.”

* * *

Adrien marveled at how quickly Alya could organize anything. By the time they’d reached the bottom of the stairs, Marinette had caught up with them and Alya already had snacks, entertainment, guests, and alcohol lined up.

“We’ve got everyone bringing a couple bottles of wine, and Kim said that he can get his hands on some brandy, and Max has been really into soju recently. Obviously there will be tequila, because how can there not be after the body shots from last time?”

Adrien interrupted her by blushing a dramatic pink. Nino, sliding down the railing of the stairs, guffawed and almost slipped off the side.

“Marinette’s bringing some pastries, because she always has plenty and they cured everyone’s hangovers, so  _ foutu  _ MVP there. Whaddayou got in terms of amenities, Adrien?”

“Uh gosh let me see. So I’ve got a bunch of books and movies and stuff, like a lot of anime and--”

“Sweet, I’ve got some stuff to put on too, what else?”

“So I’ve got a couple arcade games and a couple TVs and a computer, so we’ll have plenty of stuff to play. There’s a few couches, too, and my bed’s on the bottom floor of my room so we can sit on that to watch stuff, or whatever. I think Kim and Alix will probably be monopolizing the basketball hoop, and I bet Alix would want to try out the quarter pipe. It’s kind of tough, but if anyone wants to use the rock wall they can, they just have to be careful, it’s pretty high up there. I have a foosball table, in case Max is feeling analog or anything… “

“And a bathtub,” Marinette added. She hadn’t realized she’d said it out loud until she saw Adrien turn to look her in the eyes. His gaze was a weighty thing, settling on her and pressing down in crevices she didn’t know she could feel. Her skin was still, and inside she squirmed. Knowing what she did about Adrien’s activities from last night, the squirming about Adrien during the schoolday was at  _ last _ bearable. More than bearable. Her internal churning every time he looked at her had crested a very important hillock, and now she could see herself quickly becoming desperate for it. “It looked like a pretty big one,” she added, sending a thrill through herself. 

From the look on Adrien’s face, and his lip between his teeth, she’d sent one through him, too.

“Yeah.” The word was one long, slow breath out. “The, uh, m-my bathtub could probably turn into a hot tub kind of a thing. It’s got… jets and stuff.”

Alya was staring. 

_ Oh jeez did I do something weird? Dammit. Great job, Adrien. _

“Uh… sorry? I don’t--um. We don’t have to do the bathroom or anything, that’s fine, we--”

“Holy  _ shit _ , Adrien, what the hell is your room like?!”

“Alya! English!” called Rose from the other side of the courtyard.

“I told you girl,” said Nino, unperturbed. “I’ve seen smaller stadiums. Stadia? Sports places.” He crossed his arms, nodding. “Boy knows how to roll.”

“OH WOW THAT ALL SOUNDS NEAT AND SURPRISING,” said Marinette, who had never visited Adrien’s room wearing civilian clothing. “I HAD NO IDEA ANY OF THAT WAS THERE!” Well, except the tub.

_ Nice job, Marinette, now no one has any idea you’ve been there before as Ladybug, flawless. Better make my eyes really big and innocent looking.  _ She did so. 

“Adrien, hey, uh, don’t take this the wrong way but we are always partying at your place, forever. Cool? Cool.” Having confirmed, she unleashed a slew of additional texts. It would be a full night. 

“Uh--” began Adrien. 

“Like I had planned to get everyone moderately trashed and then get folks naked, but damn if you sleep in a theme park we are gonna have a TIME.”

“O-okay! Yeah! It'll be really great to have it not be empty for once!”  _ No offense, Plagg.  _

Hearing that, Marinette made a quiet promise to herself to keep Adrien company far, far more often. Dating him as a civilian would certainly help, and she knew a certain superhero who would be delighted to swing on by…

_ Wait, doesn't Adrien know Chat Noir? Maybe they could hang out? I'll ask him.  _

_ Okay focus, Adrien’s beautiful lips are moving again. _

“I just need a little heads up time before, you know? To… uh… make sure… the security is… good. Off. Security off,” he was saying. 

_ Yeah don’t worry Adrien I know a certain little bug who will  _ always _ be interested in helping you out… for a price, of course.  _ Marinette barely held herself back from releasing a perv giggle at the thought of finding out just  _ how _ thankful he would be to Ladybug. 

“Boy, fetch a bard, fetch a minstrel because this business is going to be legendary. Epic. Forget your Aeneid. Push the Prose Edda off a cliff. Take a hike, Scheherazade. We’re getting straight mythic. You’ll be beating off glistening Adonises all night. Well--” she paused with a smirk. “Marinette will, I guess.”

Adrien looked socially puzzled, his second most common expression. Marinette, who had made that particular Greek comparison to Alya a number of times, was not puzzled at all. Rather, she was  _ explosively flustered  _ at the implication that she would be manhandling Adrien’s… man handle. And Alya had made that joke  _ in front of the Adonis in question! _ Betrayal!

Yet… the thought brought a familiar heat to her lower bits. There was still time--they could potentially sneak up to her room really quick, and Marinette could  _ show _ Adrien just what Alya had meant by that pun…

“Alright girl, you and me need to have a  _ tete-a-tete _ , if nothing else than to save your wrists for tomorrow evening,” said Alya. Marinette whined, a flowing grumble that burst from her lips unbidden. Alya drew her close, wrapping an arm around her friend’s shoulders and pulling her away. She waved to Adrien, and whispered in Marinette’s ear. “Listen,  _ chienne _ , I number one need details and number two have to advise that you give your damn hands a  _ rest _ . Take it from a pro, the first weekend I got to spend with Nino I couldn’t exactly update the Ladyblog,  _ if you receive my meaning _ .” She looked around. “You’ll thank me tomorrow night when you’ve got fresh, rested hands to put on Adrien, okay?”

Marinette was still slightly furious, but what Alya said did make some sense. Her wrist was in no condition to be doing any… to do what she’d been planning. If she wasn’t more or less ambidextrous, she’d have been in a real pickle. As it stood, she grudgingly accepted that Alya’s experience with manual stimulation (of others) was greater than her own, and that she could learn from her experience. Her next...  _ encounter _ with Adrien had to be  _ phenomenal _ . She wasn’t going to let masturbatory excesses lay an imperfection on their next time together,  _ even if _ it meant that she had to lay off the  _ bijou _ for a night.

With Marinette adroitly swooped up by Alya, Adrien could only stand, blinking.  _ Well, that was fast _ .  _ Alya’s a good party planner! _

Nino clapped him on the back. “Okay my  _ frere _ , you know what I’m about to ask.” 

Adrien did not know. “Uh,” he clarified.

“How’d it  _ go _ last night, man! Details! What do you think Alya’s doing with Marinette?”

“OH! Uh, oh wow. It…” For a moment, he hesitated. How much should he really tell? This was his first time negotiating the realm of  _ oversharing _ . At least, oversharing anything but his emotional state. “Um, okay, just… don’t tell anyone, okay? Except Alya. I don’t… I don’t want to mess this up.”

“Bro. Buddy. It’s me, Nino. I am a trustworthy bro and I will keep your dang secrets. Now let’s have ‘em.”

* * *

It was a very interesting lunch hour.

“Ohmygod you have to show me!”

“Alya! That was sent in confidence! I can’t just… show off Adrien’s body!”

“Uh, he’s a  _ model _ , I’m sure it’s fine! Now let’s see that ladybug coinpurse!”

“Alya, gross! You could barely see any coinpurse, it was just his hip! That’s what made it sexy. It was  _ teasing _ ! It was the best!”

“You know you could have gotten more, right?”

“Well DUH, Alya but we just started dating yesterday! I’m taking it slow!”

“I’m just saying, you coulda seen at  _ least _ the middle of the snake, Marinette. It’s the least dangerous part.”

“Not to my blood pressure! Aaa!” 

Alya guffawwed and wrapped her friend in a crushing hug. “Seriously, though, girl, I’m so happy for you! You’re finally making it work with golden boy Agreste! I couldn’t be prouder of you.”

Marinette, mostly smothered with boob, could only pat out a pleased “aww shucks” onto Alya’s shoulderblades. Ayla was always exuberant, never more than when she was excited about Marinette’s sex life--or at least so it seemed to Marinette.  _ After the party… after Saturday I’m going to grill Alya as good as she grills me. I can’t be so one-sided! _ Silent due to boob, she just hugged back harder.

“But yeah I’m holding you hostage until you show me some of those texts.”

From Alya’s cleavage, a muted “Alya!” could be heard.

* * *

“Whoa, no panties for the whole date? Damn!”

“I know! I had to… uh. You know.”

“ _ Yeah _ I know. Hell I’m about to have to  _ you know _ right now just hearing that.”

“Nino! Dude!”

“Ha! Like you’re one to talk. I can’t use the stall on the far left since you told me what you got up to yesterday.”

“Those were extenuating circumstances, bro! I found panties!”

“Hey hey hey I totally understand! Sometimes you just gotta…” Nino searched for an appropriate metaphor. Well--appropriate in a different way. “Gotta… execute your own Robespierre, you know?”

“Okay, that… that metaphor isn’t great, but yeah. You do.”

“Par _ ticularly _ when Marinette’s involved.”

“Dude don’t make it weird!”

“It’s only weird to you, man! Everyone jerks off to their friends! Hell, even Chloe probably busts one out to Kim every once in awhile.”

“Chloe?!?”

“Yes, Adridaddy?”

Nino and Adrien started. Chloe had appeared, bright and yellow, somehow evading every sense. Her technique was a mystery, until one sterling fact made itself apparent. She hadn’t been insulting anyone--or even talking. What?

“Oh! Uh… hi, Chlo. What’s… what’s up.”

“Oh nothing, just stopping by to see my favorite model, youuuu,” she purred, lightly draping herself on his shoulder. Compared to her usual antics, Chloe was downright… restrained. “Hi, Nino,” she said, turning to Nino and releasing Adrien. Her hands, usually all over the boy, didn’t seem to know quite what to do with themselves once freed from their orbit. One rested nervously on her purse, while the other fiddled with the heart locket that held her new golden choker together.

“Uh, hey,” replied Nino. Had Chloe ever addressed him before? To do anything but insult him?

“Listen, Adrien… I… sort of need to talk to you about something.” Something was different about her voice. It was softer than normal, perhaps--not buzzing with the latent energy of an insult waiting to be unleashed. “I’ll buy you coffee. It’ll be a date.”

Adrien stiffened a bit. Anything resembling a  _ date _ with Chloe had to be treated very delicately. Now that he was  _ actually _ dating Marinette, he would have to make sure to establish a fresh, sparkly, new set of boundaries. And he’d never been particularly good about that. He started to protest.

“Um, actually I don’t know--”

“Not that kind, just--I need a friend. Not Sabrina.”

_ What? Did Chloe just… say it’s  _ not _ a date? _

“Oh, uh… is Sabrina...”

“I’ll text you on Sunday. Okay? Please?”

This was serious. Chloe never said “please” for anything, at least not like she meant it. Now, though, her voice almost held a quaver of something… personable? Vulnerable? Something very much  _ not _ like Chloe had been. At least not recently. 

Nothing to do but accept, then. As abrasive as she could be, she was still his friend--his first friend. That counted for something, even with her less than stellar behavior over the past few years. He had to let her talk.

“Okay, Chlo. I’ll talk to you then.”

“Thank you, Adri.” She turned, ponytail flipping golden behind her, and walked off, fingers trailing the thick gold curves of her new jewelry. The two boys watched her leave, the void of drama somehow more unnerving than a parting insult from Chloe would have been.

“Dude what the fuck was that?” asked Nino.

“Language. But yeah I… no idea.” Adrien scratched his head, perplexed. Ever since Chloe had gotten it in her head that they could be a power couple when he’d come to public school in the last year of collége, she’d been irrepressible about pursuing him. Now she just wanted to talk? This was new. 

_ Wait a minute _ … thought Adrien.  _ Did she call me _ ... _ Adri _ daddy?!

* * *

Marinette saw Chloe approaching Adrien across the courtyard and felt her jaw clench. 

_ Chloe _ …

Always  _ Chloe, _ always doing something, always messing with someone. Well she was going to establish an  _ extremely  _ clear boundary about how Chloe could treat Adrien, and how much she was willing to let her  _ mortal enemy _ hang all over her  _ new but still definitely real boyfriend _ .

She had rolled up some momentum and had just begun to storm over to where Chloe was harassing Adrien when--she let go?

Then she just left?

What?

_ What? _

She and Alya stood, stock-still, mouths agape, unwittingly matching Adrien and Nino, until it was time for class.

* * *

The rest of the day dragged, to no one’s surprise. Everyone had received Alya’s texts, and everyone knew that A Time was afoot. Eagerness for tomorrow was the rule of the day, and Mylene and Ivan’s recent genital accomplishment was on everyone’s mind. The day had become fraught with sensual possibilities, even more than Alya last party. 

Only Chloe and Sabrina were removed from the excitement, engrossed as they were with each other. Chloe had hinted at her plans, but she was neither bragging nor lording it over anyone, and she’d become something of a quiet presence more than an irritant. It was nice, but thoroughly unexpected. She hadn’t even been responsible for anyone being akumatized  _ all week _ , and Marinette wasn’t even sure if that had happened, ever, since Papillon had made himself known. 

Class was a wash. The lack of drama, their classmates’ successful  _ foutre _ (ignoring injuries), and the possibilities for an unsupervised  _ mansion _ worth of party put everyone in a breathless stasis which was absolutely  _ not _ conducive to discussing  _ Candide _ . For Adrien and Marinette, sitting so close to each other,  _ knowing _ what they’d been doing, proudly bearing the  _ damage  _ of that night full of the best kind of self-abuse, the tension was heightened even more. 

For their two best friends, of course, the tension was also heightened, but in more of a fun way. For every secret glance Adrien and Marinette shared, Alya and Nino had to stifle their own giggles. But, they were still committed to being the best and rowdiest wingman and wingwoman--wingcouple--possible. Their fashionable besties would be getting some  _ action _ , and that fact was non-negotiable. 

But of course, Alya didn’t plan to reserve the action  _ purely _ for Marinette and Adrien. Truth or Dare was a hard act to follow, in terms of party games, but Alya had a few good ideas. Mostly involving a large, spinnable bottle, Adrien’s closet, and a timer set for seven minutes. Oooh la la!

And Marinette and Adrien, bless their hearts, had no idea what she had planned for them  _ at all _ . 

As she planned out the festivities, she kept getting distracted by her own gleeful cackle.

* * *

“So should I just touch the console? Or should I make sure it’s, like, specifically the security bits?”

“UGH, Adrien, it doesn’t MATTER, it’s MAGIC just HIT SOMETHING.” Plagg was not being particularly helpful, as was his wont. “Cataclysm just CATACLYSMS stuff based on how you want to make it break, you dingus!”  _ Okay, that was helpful _ .

“But what if I miss and hit the podium or something? What if I accidentally break all of the Paris electric grid?!?”

“Adrien.” Plagg flew up to eye-level with his miraculous holder. “It’s a little late to be worrying about that on Saturday morning, isn’t it? Mere hours before your party?”

“Uh…” replied Adrien.

The little kwami flitted about his head, bonking his bulbous noggin against it. “And don’t you normally not worry about what Cataclysm’s going to do, at all? Say, when there’s an akuma to fight?”

“I guess so…”

“Because it’s MAGIC you bagel-headed sunflower! Just slap some Camembert into my face and let’s get to destructing.”

That sounded pretty good. Adrien shrugged. Alright, then. “Plagg,  _ transformer-moi _ !”

* * *

A crackling black energy cascaded from Chat’s right hand into the console, haywiring the entire situation. Red emergency lights flicked on and off, klaxons briefly blared, and the steel security shutters slammed up and down momentarily, before stabilizing. After the chaos, the room looked entirely the same, except for the red X’s on the console screen and the lack of a blinking light on the security cameras. Chat experimentally tapped the screen a few times, but nothing happened. He only got a computerized beep of alarm whenever he touched it. 

_ Magic is the best, how did I ever manage without it? _ he thought to himself. Making his way around the house, he checked every camera and security system. Everything seemed to be in order, which was to say, out of order. The lights were on, but not the cameras. The laundry robot was on, but not the surveillance eye at the front portico. The heating was on, but not the laser intrusion alarms. Magic was  _ very _ convenient. 

In the few minutes before his transformation ran out, Chat checked every security device that could obstruct the way from the door to his room--everything looked hunky-dory, entirely disabled and unable to report his naughty-nefarious deeds to the security system, Nathalie, or--he shuddered--his father. For once, the grim marble of the floor seemed less like the world’s fanciest prison, and more like the luxurious chateau it might have actually been intended to be.

Chat smiled to himself, giggling under his breath as he thought about not only having a party, but a  _ real _ party, and having a friend over, not just Nino that one time, but  _ friends _ , and not just friends, but  _ Marinette _ . And, to really put the curl in the croissant, Ladybug would be coming by the next day to reverse all the damage. And maybe hang out; a cat could hope.

He couldn’t stop from giggling under his breath as we went to the cheese pantry and unloaded several discs of Camembert for Plagg. If Alya was to be believed--and given last time, she definitely was--then the little cat would absolutely have earned it.

* * *

Checking and double-checking everything, setting out snacks and drinks, and ensuring that every entertainment center was in prime working order, Adrien had fallen into the trap of the overeager host. He was eager--aggressively eager--for the party to start, and he had everything set up.

He had everything set up, hours early.

Nothing to do but wait, take another shower, and wait some more. People wouldn’t be coming by for hours, but he was ready  _ now _ . Normally, an akuma attack or something would liven up the situation, but Papillon had been surprisingly quiet since the Hipsteur. Just waiting. Another awkward, lonely length of time waiting for something to happen. The only difference was that this time, the security wasn’t on.

The security wasn’t on…

He had an excellent idea. Moving a stuffed and snoring Plagg off of his phone, he brought up a newly-familiar number to make a proposition.

* * *

Marinette had gotten ready too early. It was a classic error--she was almost embarrassed that a fashion-minded young woman like herself had neglected to even  _ try _ for being fashionably late. She sat in her room, atop her recently-defiled chaise, twiddling her thumbs. Given her high hopes for the evening, her thumbs were the  _ only _ thing that had been twiddled for a full day. Such restraint was something of a record for her. 

She had tried to balance her style between indicating  _ eagerness _ and not too  _ much _ eagerness. Adrien was a kind soul, but she could potentially do without the teasing from her various other classmates--Kim in particular, probably. For the party, she’d played off of her usual style. Instead of flats, she was wearing low-heeled, calf-high boots. Her usual pink jeans were still there, but over a pair of thin leggings, for insulation--it was still a bit chilly, after all. She’d augmented her floral shirt with a light turtleneck, and topped it off with a peacoat she’d designed--gray wool, pink piping. She was quite pleased how it had all come together, finalizing the look with a knit cap in pink. Very cute. 

Under everything, however, was quite a little surprise. 

Of course, she didn’t have her full set of ladybug lingerie, so she was sporting her special-occasion undies. If everything went according to her (and Adrien’s, and Alya’s, and everyone’s) plan, a certain blonde boy would be getting very familiar with those particular undergarments. Whereas the Ladybug cloth had been  _ extremely _ appropriate for her, the cloth wasn’t ideal for capital-L Lingerie. What she was wearing now was substantially more-- _ scandalously  _ more--sheer, with a strappy, lacy cut. The cups left very little to the imagination, and she’d eschewed a bikini cut for a pair of sheer boyshorts. Slightly more coverage, sure, but  _ infinitely _ more intriguing in its transparency. 

She was pondering how much of the party was likely to  _ see _ the little treat she was wearing for Adrien, knowing Alya’s preferences for nudity-based entertainment, when her phone buzzed. 

**Adrien: My security system’s off and the party isn’t for a little while**

**Adrien: would you like to come over?**

She beamed. Tapping out a quick reply, she darted over to Tikki, working through a pile of cookies.

“Oh hello Marinette! Are you ready to--” she managed to stay before she was cut off with an  _ urk _ as Marinette stuffed her into her purse. 

“Sorry Tikki! We have to go! Gotta see Adrien!”

Rushing out the door, she grabbed her box of pastries, calling over her shoulder.

“Mama! Papa! I’m headed over to Alya’s with the day-old pastries! Love you, bye!”

With the box under her arm, and Tikki giggling at her in between cookie-bites in her purse, Marinette pulled out her phone to vent some excess glee. 

* * *

**Marinette: OHMYGOSH ALYA**

**Marinette: IM GOING OVER TO ADRIENS EARLY**

**Marinette: IF YOU DONT HEAR FROM ME ITS CUZ I EXPLODED FROM JOY**

_ Party getting started a little early, huh, Marinette? _ Alya thought to herself.  _ Tsk tsk. Can’t have you resolving all the sexual tension  _ that _ early… _

_ … I’ll give them a little time, though. _

She texted a few winky faces at Marinette, then began composing another message to the group at large.

* * *

**Marinette: I am extremely on my way**

Adrien didn’t know exactly how to mentally react to Marinette’s reply, but he sure managed to react physically. His blood pumped hard in his ears and he felt himself worrying his lip between his teeth without realizing it. He was regretting his choice of snug-fitting trousers. Nothing to be done about it--Marinette would probably be just fine with finding out how glad he was to see her. 

He buzzed, unable to stay still, as he waited for Marinette to--

The doorbell buzzed.  _ That was fast _ .

He opened the door, and 163cm of girl slammed into his entire self.

* * *

Marinette had intended to go for a cute, demure look when Adrien opened the door, gracefully sweeping in with a bounty of pastries, fluttering her eyelashes at him as he blushed,  _ adorably _ . Her foot, of course, got caught on the door frame, and the pastry box cluttered to the side (the lid staying on, mercifully). Her momentum, however, propelled her directly into her gracious host.

In the middle of their fall, faces close, eyes wide with surprise, Marinette had only one thought for herself:

_ Well, okay _ .

As Ladybug, she had learned to excel in the art of improvisation. She used every ounce of that skill now, forcing her lips a little further to gently press into Adrien’s. His eyes, wide and green, widened further as he felt her lips touch his, before they closed to focus on the fact that he was being  _ kissed _ and was anything else really important?

At that point, instinct took over. But not in that way.

Years of experience snagging Ladybug out of the air, years of catching a careening Marinette mid-fall, had both honed Adrien’s reactions and balance to a razor’s edge. He supposed that fencing, basketball, and DDR had probably improved his reactions somewhat, but the real bulk of his muscle memory was  _ definitely _ related to intercepting Marinette or Ladybug. After all, he only had fencing once a week at the maximum. 

Eyes closed to enjoy the kiss, Adrien cartwheeled his arms, trying to find purchase on a nearby column, while his feet skittered across the marble floor. Marinette was pretty well braced to his chest, so he wasn’t too worried about her flying off into the void; the level of suction they were applying to each others’ faces also made them careen as a unit, rather than separately. Very convenient. 

Torn between the two vertiginous feelings of almost-falling and kissing a beautiful girl who really likes you, Adrien could barely react in time as his right hand snagged the supporting column for the inside balcony. The impact spun him around, and he cradled Marinette with his other arm, keeping her locked to him. This act wrapped him around the post, coming to rest on the opposite side from the door, his right arm circling the column, his left circling Marinette’s waist. Her weight pressed into him, and he could finally enjoy swooning from the effects of her lips, rather than the effects of gravity and velocity.

Marinette pressed herself against him, squeezing his body between hers and the column.  _ That went way better than I expected _ , she thought, in between spans of time when thought deserted her entirely. Here she was, not only plowing into Adrien Agreste, not only kissing him, but kissing him in his house. In his  _ empty _ house. A little moan escaped from between her lips, in the middle of the kiss they shared, and she felt his body tremble under hers as it played across his lips.

They stayed like that for a time, holding each other against the pillar, lips and tongues doing things that they’d been planning for  _ days _ . And now, joy of joys, they had the privacy of an entire  _ house _ to themselves--no holding back at a cafe or on a public avenue, no incident report for the national Department of Young Love officers to complete, no parents to  _ bloquer le robinet _ , so to speak. Until their friend showed up, they were finally and gloriously  _ alone _ , together. 

Pressing Adrien up against the column was even better than having him up against the brick wall by her house. For one, no parents mashing their faces against the window to watch. For another, she could devote much more time and attention to feeling the length of her body pressed against his. Gently, his right hand released the column and made its way teasingly up her spine, pressing her into him more firmly. The feel of his hand drawing her closer sent sparks radiating out from the small of her back. His arms were safe, and warm, and welcoming in a way that nothing had ever been before. 

They kissed, swallowing themselves up in each other and enjoying countless moments of each other, feeling their bodies’ rhythms and the involuntary patterns and pathways their tongues and lips took along the paths of their partner’s mouths. Marinette found herself trembling, the sheer  _ feeling _ of so much  _ Adrien _ happening to her jumbling her nerves into a randomly-sparking heap. A heap that Adrien was holding up with one hand around her waist, and one tracing up her spine. 

On Adrien’s side of the kiss, it was all he could do to not let one part of his body become  _ extremely _ perpendicular to the rest. He had very little success, and Marinette’s ministrations of lips and tongue made him shiver to the core. The feeling of being pressed between her and the unyielding pillar was somehow more thrilling than kissing over the croquembouche had been, and better still than the public, exposed, kiss against the brick wall from Thursday. Even through her peacoat, he could feel the swell of her breasts pressing into him. Under his hands, he could feel the curve of her spine, the crest of her hips. Pressed up against his most intimate--but also most  _ alert _ \--body part, he felt an intensely intriguing spot of warmth. Melting slightly as she moaned into his lips, he rolled his hips involuntarily, pressing himself with a hungry force into her. 

The sudden pressure brought a gasp to Marinette’s lips, briefly parting her from Adrien’s lips. The rushing sensations that were swirling through her body were doing their best to come to a peak right at where he’d pressed against her. She dug her hips into his own.

She could swing across Paris on a yo-yo for hours without tiring, but as she drew back from Adrien’s lips, she was breathing hard. 

Adrien had paused his hips as she ground herself into him, focusing every ounce of will into preventing his underwear from turning into the corner of Marinette’s ceiling. Now was  _ definitely _ not the time. Her lips drew off of his with a gasp and he bit back a moan, with little success. 

However, as much as Adrien the Teen wanted nothing more than to feel Marinette press against him more and harder and with  _ substantially _ fewer layers between them, Adrien the Host had some duties to attend to.

“Uh, h-hello,” he said, slightly embarrassed by how out of breath he sounded.

“H-h-hi,” she replied. She was still pressed against him-- _ Thank you, Marinette _ \--but had pulled away from his lips, to catch a breath.

“W-welcome to my h-home, thanks for c-coming.” Not the best choice of words. Or perhaps the most prophetic. He offered a silent prayer to St. Alya, patron of horny teens.

“Thanks for h-having me,” she replied, implications heavy in her tone. He could have her any way he wanted. “Sorry I, uh… sort of tripped into you…”

“If y-you’re going to trip like that, p-please trip into me whenever.”  _ Damn, Adrien _ , he thought to himself.  _ That was almost smooth _ . “D-do you want to take the t-tour?”

Marinette trapped her lower lip between her teeth, partially to keep herself from kissing Adrien instead of answering, partially to prevent herself from making soft approving noises out loud. After a moment of composing herself, she gave a carefully considered answer, hoping that she could get it all out in one go. “The building isn’t what I’m interested in exploring right now.”  _ Nailed it _ . 

“Sooooo what are you interested in… exploring?”  _ Nice job keeping the ol’ voice steady, Agreste _ .

“You.” 

Her lips were back on his, her body an insistent pressure against his own. Exploration was the name of the game, and Marinette and Adrien were going to tag-team their way to the title belt. 

Adrien felt her reach up between them, undoing the buttons of her peacoat, as her other hand slid down his side, to his hip, to the muscled curve of his butt. As she undid the final button, she gave him a squeeze that sent rockets through him, making him quake against her--which was potentially her intention all along. He felt himself dig fingers harder into her, pressing her hips against his own. The pressure of her body against his, and her lips and tongue exploring him, was overwhelming. Overwhelming to the point that he didn’t give a lot of thought to why she’d unbuttoned her coat. 

He began considering her reasons a lot more closely when he felt her hand pull one of his own from around her waist, and guide it up under the cloth of her shirt. 

He gasped, kissing her back harder than ever, tongue needy between her lips. Tentative, following her guidance, he felt his hand trace up the muscles of her abdomen, each fingertip sensitive to the quivers and gasps of her whole form. Her other hand, previously so firmly braced on his rump, was moving slowly around to the front of his trousers, where their hips were doing their damndest to join into a singular entity. 

As much as the thought of feeling Marinette up was appealing--and  _ foutre _ , was it--Adrien was always a bit of a Nervous Nantes-y. 

“Is this okay? Is it okay if I do this?”

“Adrien…” she breathed. “You can do anything you want to me. Just… maybe not everything quite yet.”

He did moan then, a lusty helpless thing, as his fingers made contact with the soft, lacy bulge of Marinette’s  _ teton _ . Guided by her hand, he traced the fullness of her curves before tracing up to its peak with an experimental tug. It was her turn to moan then, and she slid her hand between their grinding hips, wrapping herself--intentionally, this time--around his length, through the jeans. 

Gasping into each other, they stayed there for a moment, enjoying their first intended and intentional Reign of Terror and the shocking and beautiful revelation of what someone else’s body was like, more intimately than it had ever been known before. Marinette slid her hand down Adrien’s length, appreciating its bulge through his pants, and  _ planning _ . Adrien squeezed her breast, twisting her firm little bud harder, the blaze of sparks that action lit throwing Marinette’s head back. 

They had, of course, been distracted by other things, and had not closed the door after Marinette’s stumbling entrance. This oversight left the internals of the Agreste mansion open to the elements, to windblown leaves, to itinerant fauna…

And to  _ extremely _ early party guests.

“Dang, started the party without us, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LAST the party begins.
> 
> I'm currently updating this from not my usual computer, so I may be updating this later. 
> 
> I wonder what Chloe's up to...


	21. In Which Several Confessions Are Made, And The Author Bids A Fond Farewell To The Fourth Wall In One Scene

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guests arrive at the Agreste Mansion, interrupting a brief rendezvous between Marinette and Adrien. Everyone enjoys the startlingly decadent amenities of Adrien's room, and Alya suggests a very informative game. The author introduces a lampshade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains innuendos and an instance of hanging a very obvious lampshade on something (http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/LampshadeHanging). I am the worst.
> 
> Today Porte-Boner broke 800 Kudos and I am so happy! We're almost at 500 comments, and this whole situation is just about fuckin' nuts. I really appreciate everyone who's stuck around to read my gross dumb dirty absurd little fic; I love and admire you all!

_Gasping into each other, they stayed there for a moment, enjoying their first intended and intentional Reign of Terror and the shocking and beautiful revelation of what someone else’s body was like, more intimately than it had ever been known before. Marinette slid her hand down Adrien’s length, appreciating its bulge through his pants, and_ **_planning_ ** _. Adrien squeezed her breast, twisting her firm little bud harder, the blaze of sparks that action lit throwing Marinette’s head back._

_They had, of course, been distracted by other things, and had not closed the door after Marinette’s stumbling entrance. This oversight left the internals of the Agreste mansion open to the elements, to windblown leaves, to itinerant fauna…_

_And to_ **_extremely_ ** _early party guests._

_“Dang, started the party without us, huh?”_

* * *

It was Kim who had interrupted them, of course. And he was far from alone.

The foyer was filled with classmates, far too many and far too spaced out across the room for them to have missed Marinette and Adrien storming the Bastille as hard as they could, and giving the Reign of Terror some hefty consideration. It was _everyone._

Kim had been the only one to talk, everyone else hiding smirks and giggles behind their hands. Alya was hiding behind Nino, cracking up helplessly into his back, while Nino was giving them a broad grin and a thumbs-up. Rose and Juleka were holding hands and both beaming--unsurprising for Rose, but quite a treat from Juleka. Nathanael looked embarrassed, clutching his drawing pad to his chest, and Alix let her duffle bags fall to the floor so that she could flop onto them, laughing helplessly now that their entrance had been revealed. Mylene and Ivan were standing with less difficulty, now--at least partially recovered from their fuck-stresses--but Mylene may have winced in pain after a slightly-too-loud giggle. Apparently, some internal bruising remained.

And Max was all set to analyze the situation. “Au contrarie, Kim, I believe that the party proper has not yet commenced. Most likely, Adrien invited Marinette over early, in anticipation of enjoying her company before the remainder of his guests arrived.” He adjusted his glasses. “Our arrival appears to have disconcerted them.”

He was not wrong. Adrien had frozen, hand unambiguously up Marinette’s top, and just as unambiguously honkin’ on a tiddy, while Marinette subconsciously tensed her grip on a blonde baguette. She tried to calculate angles and guess whether anyone could see how up on Adrien’s package she was. A few furtive glances later, and she was absolutely convinced that everyone could see her performing a highly improper action. Something along the lines of attempting to confirm whether Adrien’s underwear modeling shoots had been photoshopped at all, in the region of the _bulge_. Mortifying.

After two startled blinks, they both sprung into action, withdrawing their hands from each other (alas) and straightening their various clothes.

Adrien, the smoothest operator this side of the Seine, had a perfect cover.

“Uh, wow Marinette is here! What a… surprise! Can I take your coat?”

“Oh yes definitely!” she replied, barely missing a beat. “That would be lovely!” She shrugged herself out of her peacoat, handing it to Adrien, and gave an obviously forced laugh. Adrien matched it with his own. “Ha ha ha!” Their classmates raised a collective eyebrow, but didn't have the heart to interrupt their maladroit deception.

While Marinette and Adrien tried to whistle as nonchalantly as possible, to indicate how nothing untoward had been going on, Alya directed the guests to bring in the various party supplies: sleeping bags, blankets, pillows, snacks, drinks, cups, ice, mixers, the works. For the moment, everyone let the makeout duo pretend that their incredibly inept obfuscation had actually worked.

Eventually, they had carted everything into the foyer, and Adrien returned to his hostly duties. He was _hosting_ a party, sure--but that didn't mean that the entire _house_ was available. He corralled some of the wandering partygoers to lay down a few ground rules.

“Let’s mostly stay in my room, okay? I don’t want my dad finding out we’ve been running around anywhere else.” With that, he opened the door to his room and led everyone in. “Welcome to my boudoir! Which is French for bedchamber!”

“Yes, Adrien, we are all French here,” said Alya, leading the way into the room.

Eleven pairs of eyes took in the splendor of Adrien’s bedroom-slash-theme-park. It was nothing new to Adrien, of course, and even though Nino and Marinette (as Ladybug) had been there before, there is a difference between how you react to a fun place when your life's in danger, and when it is not. No akumas were menacing anyone, so the room formed an incredible, decadent tableau.

Everyone was so enraptured by the room that Adrien had time to notice a small black lump snoring atop several empty Camembert boxes, before anyone else did. Sidestepping to his desk on silent feet, he swept the sleeping Plagg into a trash can and deposited the concealed kwami under his chair. _Whoops_ , he thought. _Probably should have done one last sweep for magical cats_.

He turned his attention back to his classmates invading his usually-other-human-free domain.

One side of the room was entirely dominated by rock climbing handholds, bulging into an artificial boulder. Alix immediately couldn’t help herself, and leapt onto the wall. Not to be outdone, Kim followed shortly thereafter. As they competed, Max gravitated towards the vintage arcade cabinets on the opposite wall, followed closely by Ivan, who was still showing a bit of a limp. Rose and Mylene gasped in gleeful surprise at the vast library of manga on the room’s second floor, and found Nathanael (somehow) already up there, nose-deep in something by Junji Ito. On the ground floor, Juleka gave a hushed “no way…,” and glided over to Adrien’s DDR machine. Nino joined her, marveling at the setup.

“Dude,” he said, as always. “I didn’t check it out last time, but wow… I can’t believe you have this.”

“It’s amazing,” added Juleka. “You never see these outside of arcades, like professional arcades.”

“Really?” asked Adrien.

“Yeah! I don’t even think they made more than 10,000 units of Dance Dance French Revolution.” She pressed play, starting a hotseat match against Nino. “You’re going down, Lahiffe. Oh, uh, if that’s okay, Adrien.” A sheepish grin crossed her face. “It’s just… you never see these.”

Adrien nodded his assent with a grin. She started dancing, expert level moves to a house remix of La Marseillaise. Nino nodded, feeling both the beat and slightly patriotic.

“So what do you think you’re gonna do?” asked Adrien, referring to Nino’s song of choice.

“Get Lucky,” he replied, referencing his favorite robot musicians again.

“Well, aren’t you the optimist,” said Alya, punching him lightly in the shoulder as she carried a case of wine over to the couch with Marinette. The smaller girl flailed gently to keep from losing any of the bottles--Alya’s detour to tease her boyfriend had temporarily unbalanced her, to no one’s surprise. Luckily, Alya had enough agility for both of them, and easily caught the dipping corner. “Let’s crack open some of these and get this party _started_!”

For Adrien, things were a bit of a blur. He zoomed around the room, over-hosting: everyone had a drink available at all times, snacks were laid out, and he had confirmed verbally that everyone was enjoying themselves. His first party that _didn’t_ involve an akuma; there was history to be made. He didn’t want to mess anything up, and his focus was everywhere and nowhere.

Marinette, on the other hand, couldn’t really keep her eyes off the bed. And her plans for it.

* * *

As the afternoon progressed, things couldn’t have gone better. Alya successfully calmed Adrien down about his various hosting duties, and he was able to enjoy his own party eventually--pointing out a rare, but excellent, mahou shojou manga for Rose, and giving Juleka a run for her money at DDR. He recused himself from rock climbing, on the grounds that he had all the time in the world to practice, but he  _did_ position himself under the wall to catch a falling Kim once or twice. Having plenty of experience falling off of the wall from various heights, he knew right where to place himself to intercept plummeting classmated. On the other hand, Alix’s tiny little fingers turned out to be very helpful in clinging to to the handholds, and she was able to consistently top Kim’s climbs. However, Kim pretty aggressively stomped her at basketball--a 50cm height difference effectively guaranteeing the outcome.

Marinette’s team was absolutely schooling everyone at Pictionary (or as they say in French, Pictionnaire), and Nathanael broadening Juleka’s horizons when it came to Japanese body horror manga, when a slightly sweaty Nino clapped Adrien on the shoulder.

“Damn, frere, I’ve been to less entertaining circuises! I just finished an entire Daft Punk playlist, DDR-style.”

“Nice!”

“Hell yes it’s nice,” said Nino, taking a rejuvenating bite of Camembert. “The best thing about Dance Dance French Revolution is how the playlist has so many contemporary French musicians, of which Daft Punk is only one.”

“Definitely,” said Adrien. “All those other musicians are so well-known and popular that we need not mention them at all.”

“Everyone knows enough about them that it would definitely be a waste of time to discuss it any further.”

“I agree. And I’m very impressed that they managed to curate the list of tunes so that they were all related to the French Revolution. Which, given that we are French, is something we think about and write songs about all the time.”

“Hence the name, Dance Dance French Revolution.”

“Truly an excellent play on words.”

“Truly.”

* * *

Alya observed from the corners of the room, plotting. Like a sexy spider at the center of a sexy web, she felt the sexy pulses of a thousand sexy little threads as she kept everyone an appropriate amount of entertained. Nathanael: get him more drunk, because Alix said he really opens up when he’s soused. Kim: water down his drinks but don’t tell him, so his reckless idiot dares remain manageable. Rose: give her some time to come down with a box of tissues after she finishes reenacting that tragic scene from Koala Princess Love Story with Mylene. Marinette: remind her to blink so that her eyes don’t dry out from staring at Adrien constantly. Alya was a queen, and this was her domain.

The time was right. People were getting a little bit buzzed, neither Kim nor Alix had been substantially injured by their idiot antics, and conversation was flowing freely. It was time to draw the party into a concentrated center, rather than dispersed among Adrien’s amusements.

Alya grabbed an empty bottle of something cheap and red, clinking her phone against it to get everyone’s attention. She timed it so that Max, who was busy replacing all of Adrien’s high scores on the arcade machines with his own, was between games.

“Hey everyone! I would like to propose… an activity.”

* * *

One short encirclement of pillows, blankets, and the couch later, and Alya was ready to lay down the law.

“ _Monsieurs_ and _mademoiselles_ , the game is a little something called Never Have I Ever.” A chorus of titillated _ooh la las_ followed her announcement. “The rules are simple: everyone gets a drink, and we go around the circle mentioning things we haven’t done. If anyone else around the circle _has_ done that thing, then they drink. Simple. Oh--” she paused, with a wicked little smile, “--and Judge Alya reserves the right to demand Story Time at any moment.” The ooh la las accelerated. Story time! Scandalous stories about one’s peers? Oh, absolutely!

The circle had paired off into little clumps of like-minded classmates. Adrien and Marinette stuck close to Alya and Nino; Mylene and Ivan were together, and Max, Kim, and Alix formed a bit of a triad nearby. Juleka and Rose cuddled up on each other, with Nathanael being a bit of an odd one out--for the moment, at least. Everyone refreshed their drinks, settled into their pillows, and turned their eyes to Alya. As party queen, the first round was hers.

“Never have I ever… modeled.”

Adrien rolled his eyes, taking a drink. Everyone snickered--trolling the host was a time-honored tradition, especially if you were Alya. What was more surprising, however, was that Kim and Rose also drank.

“What?” asked Kim, starting Story Time on his own. “It was after last year’s track and field meet, where I won first prize. They couldn’t keep their lenses off this body.” He flexed, for emphasis, earning approving looks from Max and Alix. “Too much muscle to _resist_ . Raw, primal _power_. I got everyone’s number.  What about Rose? She took a drink!”

Rose was blushing. “Um, well--you see--I--”

Juleka finished for her. “I needed a little souvenir. I was going out of town for a while.” She blushed as hard as her girlfriend, ducking her head to block her face with more of her hair. “J-just a few. But she definitely modeled.” Rose giggled nervously, burying her face in Juleka’s side and squealing gently.

“Aaaa! Juleka! Don’t tell them!”

_Mlle. Wine strikes again_ , thought Marinette. _The Patron Saint of TMI, Mlle. Wine, light a damn candle._ But the confession--and Adrien’s profession--gave Marinette some _extremely_ _detailed_ ideas about future dates. _“Oh Adrien,”_ she imagined herself saying. _“I simply must empathize with the models who will wear my designs… can you give me any feedback on these poses?”_ Oooh la la!

Alix was leaning over to Juleka. “Do you, uh… happen to still have those pictures?” The girl replied with a blush, and a nod. Alix smirked. “I got a question for Rose later, then…”

Once the giggles subsided, it was Nino’s turn to confess. “Never have I ever… masturbated more than five times in one day.”

All eyes turned to Marinette--first the crew from the last party, and then the new boys, once they saw where everyone was looking. Flushing bright red (Adrien’s hand on her knee wasn’t helping), she took a mortified, slow sip of her drink. Her onanistic habits were getting to be quite the matter of public record at this point. Giggles cascaded over her, from everyone except--

“Max!?” she spluttered around the last drops of wine. He had been drinking, too.

“Hasn’t anyone else attempted to test the limits of the human body in that way? I made it to seven before I risked serious damage to myself, over the course of nineteen hours, forty-five minutes. I got an early start on that Saturday.”

Ivan started the slow clap, and it grew into an impressed crescendo at Max’s accomplishment. Refractory periods being what they are, Max had achieved quite the feat--not every fellow can pull off a septuple-header in the span of a single day. _Must be those finger-strengthening exercises from competitive gaming,_ thought Marinette. _And here I thought_ I _was the button masher._

_Damn, Mlle. Wine, good pun!_

Mylene’s turn. “Never have I ever faked an orgasm!”

Ivan nodded to himself, giving himself a quick pat on the back, while everyone else looked around the room for who was drinking. It _was_ a learning experience, after all.

No one had taken a drink.

“Why would you do that?!” asked Rose, sounding perplexed and a little horrified. “That--why?”

“Well, it’s harder for boys, too,” said Nino. “More evidence, scene of the crime, and all that.”

“That’s for damn sure,” Marinette said, not realizing she’d said it out loud. At the moment, she’d been thinking of a certain _pain au nuttella_ that Nino had left on her chaise. When she glanced at Adrien, who had taken a sharp little breath, though, she suddenly _also_ recalled a pair of pajama pants stuck to her ceiling. _Whoops_. “I--I mean that in a good way?” she told her blonde beau, who only blushed harder.

“Really? I thought that happened all the time?” said Mylene. “It’s mentioned all over the place!”

“No way am I faking for this dingus,” said Alya, elbowing Nino. “He knows better than to leave me wanting.” Nino rubbed his ribs where she’d jabbed him, then smugly breathed on his nails, pretending to polish them on his shirt.

“Well there you go,” he said. “Y’all can line up whenever.” His entire face silently screamed “That’s right, ladies, gents. Nino Lahiffe is the real deal.” And perhaps he was--Alya and Alix didn’t seem to be complaining.

“I plan on saving the fake orgasms for getting rid of one night stands in university,” said Alix. “I think that’s the generally accepted best use.”

“That sounds useful,” said Mylene. “But I guess… I guess no one has to drink, then?”

“Yeah... Alya? What do you say? What happens if your confession doesn’t get any drinkers?” Ivan turned to Alya. “Maybe they could--”

“Gotta strip,” she interrupted. “No drinkers, you gotta lose a garment.” Turning to Mylene, she raised and lowered her eyebrows rapidly, a smile on her face. “Is that okay with you, Mylene?”

Mylene blushed furiously. _This is even better than Truth or Dare, in terms of blushing! I’m hardly embarrassed at all! Better have another drink to make sure it stays that way._ She poured herself another glass of wine, topping Adrien off at the same time. They clinked their cups, plastic crunching lightly and cheap red wine sloshing. She winked, and he winked back, and they shared a sip of wine with a giggle.

Mylene finished off her drink, letting Ivan refill it as she rolled onto her back and unbuttoned her pants. She scooted them down her hips, revealing a pair of devastatingly shapely legs in tight chocolate-colored leggings. She sat back up, pulling the front of her hoodie over her knees for a bit more coverage, and Ivan handed over her refilled cup.

“Hey wait! Couldn’t I have just taken a drink?” she said. “That’s way more in line with the game!”

“Too late, curly! Pants are off!” cackled Alya. Mylene made a face, wrinkling her nose, but kept herself unclad. Sticking out her tongue at Alya, she gestured to Ivan. It was his turn.

“I’ve got a good one. Never have I ever measured the length of my dick.”

Over the course of a few slow seconds, every other boy in the room took a sheepish look to both sides, and drank. Six gleeful feminine laughs served as a chaser for their drink.

“What, can’t find a long enough ruler?” asked Alix, chortling. “Meter stick maybe?”

“You could always attempt to calculate based on the shadow it casts,” added Max. “It worked for Eratosthenes.”

“Wait a minute,” said Ivan, mid-smile. “That wouldn’t apply to anyone without a dick… So never have I ever measured _any_ dick.”

Alix took a drink, too.

“What!?” she said. “You gotta know, sometimes!”

Alya propped her head up on her hands, leaning forward. “So, boyyyyyys…. How about you share some of this data with us, hmm? Inquiring minds want to know.” When she received blushes, and not numbers, in reply, she laughed. “Maybe I’ll just find out the old fashioned way. WINK. Max! It’s your turn.”

Max steepled his fingers under his chin, all eyes on him as he pondered. “So the goal, to state it clearly, is to confess having never done something, but which you are certain at least one other person has done. Intriguing.” Out of the corner of his eye, he shot a glance at Kim. “Never have I ever attempted to physically compete with a large black feline.”

Kim gave the smaller boy a glare and took a drink. Amid the shower of guffaws, he defended himself. “For the record, I could have totally beaten it.” He was lying. He was also flushing a healthy red, with his arms crossed, when he suddenly straightened. “Wait, Marinette--why are you drinking?”

Marinette froze, lips to her cup, eyes wide. She had started sipping without thought, remembering the _numerous_ times she had competed physically with a certain magical destructive _chat_ who was very _noir_ . Obviously, she couldn’t admit to being _Ladybug_ and racing through the rooftops with _Chat_ fucking _Noir_ . Obviously, she couldn’t use her _unbelievably unconvincing_ skills at deception to get out of this. She glanced at her solo cup--red, but no spots--and confirmed that it was definitely not a Lucky Charm, so she couldn’t Miraculous Ladybug her way out of this one.

_Think, Marinette, think! Something… cat… something… lie… physical…_ she looked around the room in a panic, as all eyes turned towards her. Including a pair of teal ones, attached to a shy redhead. _Of course!_

“I-it was when Nathanael got akumatized! We were all on a boat, and he trapped me and Chat Noir in a box, and we tried to lift it off of us, together?” _Okay this is working_ , she thought to herself, looking around the room with a nervous twinge in her eye. “A-and he wasn’t getting anywhere so I got him to extend his staff upwards to lift it off of us.”

“Totally true,” said Adrien. “I MEAN FROM WHAT I HEARD ABOUT IT,” he clarified.

“STORY TIME,” said Alya, in her most official tone of command.

Marinette hastily sketched out the scene for them. The romantic interlude. Le Dessinateur realizing Chat was there. Getting trapped in a sketched box with Chat Noir. The villain rushing off to attack Chloe. Their escape. “It… was kind of a physical competition. And he’s a black feline, so…” Marinette stumbled breathlessly. “So, um… that’s why I thought I should probably count it? Makes sense, right? …. Right?”

With all of the classmates conferring with each other, and away from him, Adrien made sure he was entirely unobserved and snuck a small sip of his drink. _I was definitely competing physically with Animan, now that Marinette mentions it… and rules are rules._

“Judge Alya accepts that as being close enough,” declared the self-proclaimed party queen. “But honestly, if you just wanted to take a drink it’s fine. The point is to drink _more_ and learn _fun embarrassing facts_ , girl!” She laughed, finishing her own drink to prove a point. Alya handed her empty cup to Nino for a refill, and she gestured to Kim for his turn as Nino topped her off. “Alright, now let’s not give any further thought to that particular confession ever again. Kim! You’re up.”

“I’ve accomplished so much, it’s hard for me to say,” said Kim, with closed eyes, and smug, _merde_ -eating smirk decorating his face. “I guess I’ll have to say… Never have I ever had _noixx_ on my face. Too tall.” He topped it off with a stretch and a flex. “Or something.”

Alix and Max both took a drink, grumbling something about “never shoulda made that bet,” and so did Mylene and Ivan.

“Ivan!?” asked Alya. “STORY TIME!”

“To be fair, the spout’s a lot closer to his face than most dudes,” said Mylene. Ivan just blushed. “You ever seen a firefighter drop a hose in the middle of putting down a house? It’s kind of like that.”

“... I had to change the wallpaper…” added Ivan. “It was an accident! I bought her flowers after!”

“Don’t worry, _mon cher_! It was still a lovely first date.”

“ _Ooooooooooh!!!”_ said everyone, all together. A brief round of applause followed, and a toast to Mylene’s good nature, and Ivan’s future career in fire safety impressions. Mylene glowed under the attention, while Ivan merely glowed from the blush.

“Ahem,” interrupted Alix, eventually. “Never have I ever orgasmed into or on a pastry.”

“I came here to have a good time and I feel so attacked right now,” said Nino, taking a drink. Everyone laughing at him, however, didn’t distract sufficiently from the fact that Nathanael was _also_ enjoying a sip.

Alix was rolling on the ground, cackling madly, more madly than Alya even, as all eyes turned to Nathanael. Everyone knew of Nino’s little _pain-au-Nino_ escapade at Marinette’s party, but Nathanael benutting a baked good? This was news. Nathanael’s face was rapidly matching the color of his hair.

“L-look, there w-was a pastry, and Alix said that--”

“OHMYGOSH ALIX,” squealed Alya. “You _fiend_! You’ve been pleasuring boys with pastries for how long?!” Alix, of course, was unreachable under the rolling peals of laughter.

“We appreciate the business,” said Marinette.

“For what it’s worth, she helped clean off the eclair, afterwards.” Hearing that admission from Nathanael, Nino gave him a high five. “Nice.”

From her position on the floor, Alix grinned, licking her lips. “Sure did,” she said.

Adrien was busy mapping the hookup web out in his mind. _Damn_ , he thought. _I’ve got some catching up to do with Marinette_. He looked over at her, catching her eyes already staring at him. They both looked away with a blush, taking a concealing drink of wine. Adrien felt something on his knee, and looked down to Marinette’s hand resting, palm up, on his leg. He felt his heart give a little flutter at the gesture--so sweet, and so obviously calculated to avoid accidentally squeezing his pepper again--and smiled as he joined his hand with hers. He looked up to see the laughter at Nathanael’s confession dying down, and Juleka pondering her confession.

“Never have I ever…” she began. “... Squeezed a penis.”

Everyone took a drink, with varying levels of blush. Kim appeared to blush the least, while Marinette blushed the most--not a surprise. The rates of blushing were potentially related to how _recently_ one had accomplished the feat for the first time. The bepenised folks of the circle had daily opportunities, but Marinette had kneaded her first baguette last Saturday.

“Nailed it,” whispered Juleka, surveying her friends with a satisfied smile.

“Hey, Alya!” said Rose. “Juleka’s confession got everyone to drink but her! She got a grand slam, or something! I think she deserves a reward.” Juleka ran her hands through Rose’s hair in appreciation.

“Excellent point, Rose… Hmmmmmmm….” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “We could go a couple different ways with this. You already made everyone drink, so that’s redundant. I’m personally in favor of making everyone lose an article of clothing--” A chorus of knowing nods. “--Yeah yeah, I know. Classic Alya. Maybe give someone a dare? Or maybe…” the sly look returned to her eye. “Maybe you could join the rest of us dick-squeezers with a dick squeeze?”

Everyone was looking at Juleka for her reaction, which meant that everyone saw when her eyes subconsciously flicked to Ivan’s lap. “Uhhh,” she began, blushing furiously under the sweep of hair across her face. Titters followed her inadvertent glance. After a few seconds, though, she seemed to make up her mind. “Mylene, would you be okay with that?”

Mylene laughed, high and delighted. “Of course! There’s _more_ than enough to share. If Ivan doesn’t mind, that is.”

“Yeah, I, uh... that’s fine. I generally like getting my… uh. You know. Yeah.”

“Um, uh, so, uh… Ivan, I guess uh… I dare you to… let me squeeze your… dick.” Having got out the dare, she buried her face in her hands.

“I, uh… accept.” He looked around the room. “Uh, where do you want to… privacy...”

Juleka had already chugged the remainder of her drink and slunk behind Adrien’s quarter-pipe doorframe. She left her fingerless gloves with Rose--apparently, she was intent on getting the full-palm experience. She peeked out around its curve, orange eye and purple hair all that was visible. The class cheered them on in their dick-squeezing escapades. “GO WILD,” shouted Mylene. “It’s your first time squeezing one, enjoy it! Take your time!”

A brief conversation ensued from behind the quarter pipe:

“So, uh, do you…”

“Should I just…”

“Yeah or I could…”

“If that’s okay… yeah.”

“Okay here you go.”

Followed by a moment of silence.

Followed by:

“Ivan, holy shit!”

And nervous laughter.

“Language!” This exclamation from Rose.

In the circle, Mylene completely lost herself to laughter, falling over and bonking into Nino. Everyone applauded, trying to suppress their own light blushes, and their suddenly intensely detailed speculations about Ivan’s entire baguette.

Ivan’s face was visible from around the edge of the quarter pipe, and it rapidly turned red as Juleka went from eye contact with his package to giving it a firm handshake. A low whistle emanated from the normally shy girl, who presumably had an overstuffed handful of _saucisse de Bruel_. “Mylene, I am extremely impressed with you,” she called from her hidden corner. The friends whistled their appreciation. If Ivan was truly as blessed in the genital department as he seemed, then Mylene was a paragon of flexibility.

With an audible zip, Ivan replaced himself, and the two of them returned, shaking their heads and giggling, still rosy-red around the cheeks. They returned to their seats, Ivan with a noticeable (or noticeably larger) bulge in his pants.

“So? How was it?” asked Rose. “Your first dick squeeze?”

“It was… well it was just a dick. But... “ she looked askance at Ivan. “It was… damn. It was way more like the internet than I thought real life would ever be. In a good way?” Embarrassed again, she covered her face with her hands. “Aaaagh, I dunno! It was weird but cool! It’s a dick! Just way bigger!”

“I’m kind of surprised you went for a squeeze,” said Kim. “I thought you were a lesbian.”

“Well, I only love women,” said Juleka. “But men can be… nice to look at. I guess. I mean so I guess I’m like a five. Five and a half.”

“ _I_ think you’re a ten!” said Rose. Awww.

“No, on the scale. You know, the Kinsey scale? The one that that sexually repressed American came up with?”

“Whoa, redundant much?” added Alya.

“The Kinsey Heterosexual-Homosexual Rating Scale was developed in 1948 by famed American sexologist and entomologist Alfred Kinsey. In brief, it goes from zero to six, with a zero indicating complete heterosexuality, and a six indicating complete homosexuality. There have been several additional scales of this sort which--” Alix cut Max off with an elbow as he was mid-explanation and well into his twelfth adjustment of his glasses. The little gamer was a font of knowledge, but the plumbing on that font tended to drip a little much. Alix had found, over the years, that a sharp jab of a pointy part of the body was usually effective in closing that particular tap.

“Wait… entomologist?” asked Nino.

“Yeah, wasps,” said Juleka. “He was a wasp dude before he was a sex dude.”

“Well, share ‘em if you got ‘em,” declared Alya. “And if you want to. It’s learning time. I figure I’m about a 2.”

“This is entirely outside the scope the scale was designed for!” protested Max. “You can’t just assign yourself a number! It requires analysis and thought to adequately locate yourself on one of these metrics! This isn’t BourdonnerNourrir!”

Kim jabbed him this time. “Shut up, nerd. What’s your number?”

“Well if you must no,” huffed an indignant Max. “I have taken great care to thoroughly assess my own preferences and sexual responses, and I can solidly locate myself as a 3, a perfectly balanced bisexual. I am _very_ particular about ensuring that my sexual exploits are evenly distributed among the two most commonly encountered genders.”

Kim and Alix both rolled their eyes, nodding to themselves.

“I’m probably a three, myself,” said Alix. “Can’t decide what I like more.”

“Definitely about a five for me,” said Kim. “Pretty gay.” In a rare show of goth-jock solidary, he offered a high-five to Juleka. Slightly startled by the suggestion, she gently patted his palm with her own. “Nice,” he said.

“I think I’m a four!” said Rose. “But maybe a three… I guess I just have a lot of love to give!”

There was enough wine floating around in the party’s collective bloodstream that these relatively personal confessions were going over with surprising smoothness. Marinette had never really given too much thought to her sexual proclivities--most recently, they’d been heavily dominated by a certain boy holding her hand, tilting her more towards the zero side of the scale. But going a bit deeper, she couldn’t ignore than her fashion interests focused heavily on making women as beautiful as possible…

And there was that whole thing with watching Mylene at the last party…

And there was the fact that thoughts of Alya dressed as Lady Wifi kept sneaking into her fantasies…

Alya in general, in fact.

“I guess I’m a one,” said Marinette. “I never… I guess? I’m not sure.”

“You don’t have to be sure,” said Adrien. “I mean I certainly don’t think I’m sure. But I think I might be a two? One or a two.”

“The metric is itself inherently imprecise and--”

“Yes, Max, we get it. We’re not chiseling anything into stone.” Alix rolled her eyes at him. “Just… speculating. Mostly.”

“I figure I’d be about a two. Zero for Alya, and one for each member of Daft Punk.”

“Oh my hell, Nino, keep your robot boyfriends out of your sexual identity!” Alya, continuing an earlier trend, rolled her eyes.

“You leave me and my men alone.”

“Mylene? What about you?” asked Ivan. “For, uh… no reason in particular,” he added, glancing at several of the other ladies in attendance. “I think I’m probably a one.”

“I am too. I mean I’m a one, too. I think? You’ve been the only person I’ve dated, so…”

“Yeah, I haven’t dated anyone else but…”

“Something to think about.” The couple looked around the room with something of an appraising eye.

_Mlle. Wine is broadening horizons, I see_ , thought Marinette. _I guess this is what happens when you repeal all sodomy laws in the 18th century._ _Wait a minute_ \--she peered over to Alya-- _Alya is paying careful attention to this information, I bet. Gotta remember that…_ Then Adrien squeezed her hand, she was entirely distracted by the idea of watching Adrien and another glistening golden Adonis finding out exactly how much of a two Adrien is…

_No, Marinette! Don’t let sexy Adrien-on-boy action distract you from the task at hand! Which is getting sexy Adrien-on-me action! Don’t distract me, Mlle. Wine!_

Nathanael somehow managed to seem like he was sitting in the corner, even as he was part of the circle. “Uh, yes Nathanael?” asked Marinette.

“I don’t--I--I guess I don’t know where I fall on the scale. I guess I’ll just say a three for now?”

“That’s fine!” said Marinette. “You don’t even have to decide, you know.”

“Yeah, it’s a thought experiment!” said Alya. “Particularly for Marinette. She _loves_ to experiment with her thoughts, you know--five or so times per day, I hear.” Marinette blushed, as they all snickered. Well, Marinette wasn’t the _only_ one with intimate details that could suddenly become part of the public record…

A smile crept across Marinette’s lips. She had a _very_ good confession for when her turn came around.

“Wait so…” began Nino. “Is, like, _everyone_ here some level of bisexual? Nice. _Nice_.”

“According to an outdated and primitive metric, which no one else applied properly!” interjected Max.

Everyone ignored him. “Veeeeerrrry nice,” Alya added. She had devolved to rubbing her palms together like a literal cartoon supervillain. _Honestly, Alya_ , thought Marinette. _So transparent._

A couple more rounds of out-loud sexual exploration, and Rose had an Ever to have Never. “Never have I ever… had a threesome!”

Juleka’s breath hitched, and she looked around the circle, but didn’t drink ( _Assessing possibilities, perhaps_ , thought Marinette). Nino, Alya, Alix, Kim, and Max all took a swig--there was a little bit of overlap in their threesomes, apparently. Knowing the state of her chaise, and the pastry findings from last party, Marinette wasn’t the least bit surprised. As they were closest to each other, Kim, Max, and Alix shared a triple high-five. They made something of an odd trio--two jocks and a nerd, two tiny people and someone who matched Ivan in height--but their little trio had a surprising amount of staying power. If you ignored the dares. Max clearly had a thing for athletes, and apparently some natural gift for balancing relationship triads. Huh.

It was Nathanael’s turn, and he was at a bit of a loss. “I haven’t done much of anything,” he protested. “I can’t decide!”

“Then it will be easy! Come on, Nathanael, I know you can do it!” Rose curled around him, wrapping him in a tiny blonde embrace. “I believe in you!”

“Uh, um…” he looked around, before finally landing on Ivan, whose lap was currently being explored by Mylene’s hand. “Oh, okay. N-never have I ever fantasized about Ivan’s m-manhood…” Liar. But he wasn’t done: Nath took a deep breath. “...Prior to tonight.”

Oh. Well, that changed things. Slowly and deliberately, with no one looking at Ivan (and certainly not his lap region), every member of the circle took a drink. Including Ivan, of course--his fantasies often involved him putting his dick in highly sexual situations.

Ivan blushed even more furiously than Marinette ever had, and she felt a twinge of jealousy at the loss of her immaterial, but impressive, title: that of the Most Accomplished Blusher. One can’t blame him; literally every one of his friends had just admitted that they’d thought about his third leg with tawdry acts in mind--even Nath had effectively admitted that he had given it some thought, _that night_ . Mylene’s pantomime from last weekend might have contributed to the popularity, but… it was still _everyone_. Including Max and Kim, who hadn’t been at the last party.

It was a good thing Ivan was big-boned, because everyone wanted to jump them.

Most of the confessions--and drinks resulting therefrom--had been somewhat titillating, and resulted in at least a _little_ bit of laughter. With this Ivan-dick-related confession, however, everyone was a bit quieter. As if, instead of experiencing the game purely as fun, it had evolved into something that might eventually be much _more_ . A shared laugh with a mutual friend is one thing; a shared confession of sexual interest is another. The party was in decidedly _another_ territory, now.

And wait a minute…

“Hey! Nath got everybody! He gets a winner’s choice,” said Mylene. “You can squeeze Ivan’s member if you want,” she offered.   
  
“Nah, he already squeezed a penis! Wouldn’t be anything new. Just bigger. Probably?” said Nino. “Though you can if you want I suppose.”

“I mean, I can just whip it over to you from here, no one even needs to stand up,” Ivan said. Juleke, who had been very recently impressed by the todger in question, nodded, with wide eyes.

“Uh, th-that’s okay. Maybe another time, Ivan…” said Nathanael. “I’ve kind of got a dare for everyone, actually…”

“Oooh la la! Let’s hear this dare!” Alya was _into it_. It’s always the quiet ones, she figured…

“C-could everyone take off some article of clothing? Like everyone has to strip something. I’ll do it t-too.” He flushed. “Only if you want to, you know. Y-you don’t have to or anything. I’ve just, um... “ he held his face in his hands. “I’d like it.”

Foutre _yeah I was right_ , thought Alya. Everyone else looked around the room, pondering what to take off. Shoes and socks had long since been discarded, and only sizeable items were left--albeit in layers. Nathanael’s request, too, seemed adorably innocent--less like the arch-perv that Alya was, and more like a freefloating pixie boy with an artist’s eye for the human form. Who could resist?

With a collective giggle and shrug, the members of the circle finished off their drinks and started throwing off clothes. Nathanael lost his coat, leaving him in his orange t-shirt and standard purple pants. Adrien pulled a light sweater off, briefly tugging up his undershirt and absolutely _latching_ Marinette’s eyes to his abs. She could 3-D print a map of that belly from the memory of her tongue running across it, but she still couldn’t resist running her eyes over it as often as possible. Hopefully, if the night went well…

Coming back to herself, she realized that there was clothing to remove. Catching Adrien’s eye, she unbuttoned her pants and slowly scooted them down her legs. Well--up her legs, as she’d made a point to roll onto her back, legs straight up in the air, to give Adrien a nice view. _His_ eyes were delightfully glued to the curves of her legs in the tight, thin leggings. They left little to the imagination, and Marinette tossed her pants away over her shoulder, snagging Adrien’s hand and returning it to her thigh. She looked at him through her eyelashes, blinking as seductively as a lightly drunk superheroine could manage. He smiled back, squeezing her thigh and biting his lower lip. It was charming enough to see that Marinette barely noticed the admiring glances from most of the rest of the class.

The rest of the classmates were discarding various garments, too. Ladies seemed to be removing pants at a higher rate--potentially the current popularity of leggings gave them a bit more coverage. Alya had stripped her jeans off and was in her own burgundy leggings; Nino had left his pants on, but had lost his coat, reclining against Alya in just his t-shirt. Mylene had elected to lose her bra, and had successfully drawn substantial attention down to a perky pair of peaks poking past her pullover. Ivan had kept his shirts on, but lost the jeans, leaving his lower half clad only in a pair of boxer-briefs. The undies clung tightly to his form, particularly in terms of Ivan’s natural gifts… which may have been the entire point.

Max had taken off his sweater, revealing a sweater vest beneath it. He replaced the suspenders over the vest, and folded the garment fastidiously. Kim practically ripped his hoodie off, leaving him in a tight-fitting muscle shirt, foutu _of course_. Alix, not to be outdone, tugged off her outer layer of leggings, leaving her in a short, thin pair of bike shorts--foutu of course again--and likely nothing else under it. To her left, Rose had pulled off her skirt, leaving her in a pink top with pink-and-gold leggings draped across Juleka’s lap.

Juleka was kind of a surprise--she was wearing one of her sheer, lacy undershirts with a more substantial sleeveless sheath over it, and she’d lost the sheath, leaving her _very_ much in a sheer top and a lacy black bra under it. She folded Rose’s legs onto her lap, pink leggings across purple pants. She was blushing, but not as much as anyone had expected. “Rose asked me to,” she said, by way of explanation. “She said she wanted me to show off a little. So… yeah.” It was looking like quite the active night for Juleka.

Some clothes were off, and Alya spotted an opportunity. The limiting reagent, in getting people denuded, was temperature; people wouldn’t take too much off if it was frigid. The seasons were turning, and Adrien’s room was so much bigger than Marinette’s that even the concentrated Teen Auras in the room couldn’t raise the ambient warmth. It would take some outside interference.

“Adrien, can you turn up the thermostat a little bit?” asked Alya. “Don’t want to get too chilly or anything.”

“Of course!” said Adrien, the perfect host. “The controls are upstairs. I’ll run and turn it up.”

Adrien scooted off up the stairs, leaving a despondent Marinette, who collapsed into the place he had occupied.

“Alya whyyyyy… why must you rob me of Adrien?”

“Shhh, girl, you’ll thank me later.” Marinette merely moaned, and kept her eyes on her boyfriend--the term still new and sparkling on her tongue.

He raced up the spiral staircase and fiddled with a few dials on the wall. Immediately, the room seemed to grow warmer, with some diffused, luxury heating system--no blunt blasts of centrally heated air for the Agreste household. The warm air entered the room gently enough that it might have been farted through the vents by ghost mice. His task as a host complete, Adrien returned to the ground floor by his favorite route: the fireman pole in the far corner.

Both Alya and Marinette had been watching his progress. Seeing Adrien descend the pole, Marinette’s mouth gaped _thirstily_ , while Alya’s eyes widened in an entirely salacious appreciation. Adrien had leapt onto the pole, gripping it with his thighs, and bent backwards until he was upside down, his back along the length of the pole. He loosened his grip, sliding down the pole, and began to slowly rotate, making a full circle around the pole as he came down. He stopped his gradual descent with his hands, planting them on the floor and uncrossing his legs, raising them upwards. From a perfect, gymnast-quality handstand, he lowered his legs and popped back upright, vaulting over the couch to return to his seat next to Marinette.

_How dare he slide all the way down that pole with his shirt all riding up his chest and showing me the goods and act like that was just a regular thing to do and a regular way to get downstairs_ , thought Marinette. _How dare he be so perfect and beautiful. How dare he make me so horny in front of Alya and everyone_.

_Mother of GOD I am going to sex up every PART of that boy._

Instead of voicing any of this, of course, she merely stared hungrily.

Alya had no such issues.

“Wooooowwww, Adrien, that’s quite a way to come down a floor, huh?” she said.

“Oh yeah? Is it?” he asked, a pristine cream puff, too pure and delicate. “It’s just more fun that way. Than the stairs, you know.”

“Ohh, I bet it’s _way_ more fun to slide down your pole. Hey!” she said, as if only now having the idea. “Maybe Marinette could slide down your pole sometime!” As Adrien turned to Marinette, Alya slipped her a wink.

“Yeah! Would you like to try the pole, Marinette?”

“Yeah, Marinette! Don’t you want to feel Adrien’s pole between your legs? Clamping down on it and feeling it rub against you?”

“Wow Alya you’re getting pretty detailed--”

“You know, just grabbing that pole of his and sliding right down it, squeezing it nice and tight? Taking it all the way down to the base?”

“Uh, Alya…”

“I’m _sure_ Marinette is just _dying_ to _go down_ on your _pole_ , Adrien. You simply _must_ let Marinette sample your pole. Why, after she tries it out, maybe a couple of people can all try out your pole at the same time!”

“I’m starting to think that this might not be strictly about the fireman pole anymore…”

Alya couldn’t handle her own innuendos anymore, and Nino had long since given up holding in his laughter. Alya collapsed onto her already-wheezing boyfriend, a fresh batch of giggles spurring him to new heights of guffaw. They rolled, helplessly, in their nest of pillows and blankets, as Adrien turned to Marinette with an apologetic look.

“Sorry,” he said. “I think they might have been making fun and I--” He stopped, noticing Marinette’s face.

_At least_ , thought Marinette _, at least I have reclaimed my title of Person Who Has Blushed The Most Intensely_ . Her face was so red that she felt confident she could rent herself out to a restaurant to keep to-go orders warm until they were picked up. Her face was so red that astrophysicists were picking up anomalous readings. Her face was so red that color ceased to have any meaning, and the visible spectrum of light was revealed as a tragic lie of human perception. In short, Marinette was embarrassed. And _horny_ . Two weeks ago, she could barely handle Adrien looking at her, and now she’d been subjected to an _aggressive_ slew of _suggestive innuendos_ and she was holding it together with spit and twine.

“Marinette? Are--are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” she said, too loud and too fast. “Yeah! Pole! I’ll try it out whenever! Maybe later tonight ha ha! Yeah!”

_So there you are, again, Wine-Marinette. I wondered when you would show your hand…_

“Don’t worry just… thinking about… upside down yous--boys!--upside down boys and poles! Nothing to worry about! Ha! Ha!” she continued, in a reasonable and rational tone of voice. “Yep, going down! Uh huh!”

Adrien blistered her with a smile, slid his arm around her, and turned to the rest of the group.

“So, it’s my turn, is it? I’ve got a good one, I think.” He turned his dangerously beautiful smile to the gathered friends, sparing Marinette from its awesome radiance. “Never have I ever attended a public _ecole primaire_ ,” said Adrien.

_That fiend_ , thought everyone, rolling their eyes. Everyone drank, rushing to refill cups which had run dry after the slew of all-encompassing Nevers-Have-I-Ever. Adrien had earned himself a prize.

“I learned something pretty great last party I attended,” he said, squeezing Marinette. “I think we should all do a round of body shots.”

“EXCELLENT idea, Adrien!” exclaimed Alya, as Marinette squeaked out a desperate “yes!” “Let’s make it a little wild,” she added. “How about we randomize who takes shots off of whom, hmmmmm?”

Everyone agreed that was a capital idea. Rose sliced limes, Alix whipped out the tequila, and Nino dug out some salt from one of his bags. Alya wrote some names on slips of paper and pulled them out of a hat, to determine who would shoot off whom.

Adrien, the idea man of the hour, took a body shot off of Max, who was _desperately_ trying to hold back from revealing how ticklish he was--with limited success. Marinette paid _very_ close attention to Adrien’s tongue across another young man’s quivering midsection. She herself had pulled Ivan out of the hat, and had to select a part of his body with relatively little fuzz on it--while he had a lot of surface area, Ivan was also substantially hairier than Marinette’s previous body shot platform, Adrien’s abs. She eventually settled on the side of his neck, licking a broad swath of salt off of it, and feeling a shudder run up Ivan’s spine as she did so. From the corner of her eye, she saw Adrien giving her a smile, showing bright teeth around the lip he was biting. Mylene was looking at the activity with a studied casualness, as well.

She and Adrien swapped a wedge of line between themselves, back and forth, teasing little kisses around the sour fruit. Tequila buzzed in their stomachs and got the butterflies therein drunk, and the rest of the group continued with their body shots. Alya took a shot off of Mylene’s belly, “accidentally” bonking her face against her classmate’s considerable bust on the way up for the lime. Nino had drawn Alix, and traced a very long, ticklish line up her side, from the hip to the bra. When he got the lime, he leaned in close, failing to conceal where Alix had slid her hand down towards his business. Oooh la las were heard.

Mylene took a shot off of Kim, who obviously was already posing with his muscle shirt pulled up, revealing an impressive six-pack. No one was particularly surprised that Kim had the best six pack (next to Adrien, Marinette corrected herself), but Mylene seemed particularly delighted to trace a little maze up it. Even if she was more into Ivan-type bodies, it’s always nice to mix up the abdominal landscape, you see.

Not to be outdone, Ivan stood and hefted Nino up to his face like a barbell to take a body shot off of his belly. The class applauded at Ivan’s demonstration that he could easily do a couple sets of Nino-curls, but Kim was obviously already planning a way to one-up him, and Nino flopped limply with a “Ummmm” throughout the entire process.

Juleka pulled up her lacy shirt to give Max access for his body shot; he then demanded to take one off of Kim, to “balance things out.” Max was quite devoted to that perfectly-balanced bisexuality, it would seem. After granting Max a bonus-round bodyshot, Kim took one off of Alya with no great fanfare beyond Alya rolling her eyes, and then Alix drew Adrien’s name from the hat, and Marinette’s attention was _focused_.

Alix was quite the agent provocateur, and while Marinette wasn’t really worried about her trying to push the revolution along to the Second Directory in front of everyone, she was _very_ interested in what the little sparkplug was likely to _lick_. As Adrien pulled up his shirt to give her an ample region for a body shot, Alix kept gesturing at him to pull it higher. And higher. And higher. The minijock licked across Adrien’s nipple for her body shot, and may have pressed a little bit more closely than normal when she retrieved the lime from him. For his part, Adrien gave a precious little quiver. The quiver intensified as Marinette leaned over to him, whispering into his ear.

“Do you mind if I save a spot on the other nipple?”

He shook his head. He did _not_ mind.

“You can return the favor… if you want…” she continued.

He nodded his head. That was an _excellent_ suggestion.

They both entirely missed Juleka taking a shot off of Nathanael, and Nathanael taking one off of Rose, being distracted as they were by Marinette’s tongue tracing the curve of Adrien’s ear. But then it was Rose’s turn. She’d drawn Marinette, and had a special request. She startled Marinette slightly by whispering it into her ear, as Marinette was herself tonguing Adrien’s ear and enjoying his quivers and how he squeezed her thigh.

“Hey Marinette… can I take my shot off of your cleavage? Please?”

How could you say no to those baby blues? How could you pass up an opportunity to make a literal pixie bubble with joy? Marinette couldn’t deny her request. She dragged herself away from Adrien (still staying close), and pulled down her top, squishing her breasts together to boost the cleavage. She was no Mylene in the _teton_ department, but she could smoosh together some boob when the occasion called for it. Looking over at Adrien, she pulled her top a little further down, showing off the lacy tops of the cups of her bra. With a wink, she started to deploy an innuendo.

“Would you like to go next after Ro-oooOOOOH!” she cut off with a squeal, the sudden feeling of Rose’s tongue flicking across her décolletage distracting her from her teasing little comment. _The more fool me_ , she thought, mid-squeak. _Trying to flirt with Adrien when I should have been preparing myself for someone running their tongue across my tits… Mlle. Wine, I blame you._

The gentle little lick had added a little arch to Marinette’s back and a brief spurt of butterflies in her stomach. It was an intimate touch, not as powerfully obliterating as the first kisses she had shared with Adrien, but definitely _something_ . Something that made her catch her breath and pay _much_ closer attention to Rose’s tongue coming back to lick up the salt decorating her boobs.

Rose returned with a sweet little smile, and bent over Marinette’s cleavage just as Adrien was giving her thigh a gentle squeeze. The combination heightened the feeling of Rose’s deft little tongue darting across her skin, bringing to mind thoughts of _other_ places a tongue could go, while it sent little trembles up and down her skin. Still not as good as Adrien felt, but definitely, _definitely_ nice. She hadn’t ever had someone's tongue on her there--though Adrien had made a quick tour with his hand--and she found that she was becoming _quite_ the fan of mouth-on-boob situations. _I simply must share this knowledge,_ she thought.

The body shot also reminded her of Rose’s confession that she’d never been in a threesome. The combination of wine, Rose’s tongue cleavage, Adrien’s hand on her thigh, and the tipsy self-assessment of her own sexuality made Marinette consider whether, and how _long_ , she planned on maintaining her threesomeless state. _Well there you are, again, Mlle. Wine… giving me ideas...._ She felt herself squirming a little bit under Rose’s tongue, and opened eyes that she hadn't realized she’d closed. From across the circle, Juleka was gazing at her with a playful little smile on her lips. She swept a sweep of purple hair away from her left eye and winked. Unsure what to say, but needing to acknowledge Rose’s excellence, Marinette gave her a thumbs up and mouthed the word “nice.” It's always good to find out your friends are giving each other the sexual business in a high-quality way.

When Rose has finished the shot, squnching up her face at the bite of the tequila and sourness of the lime, Marinette turned to Adrien.

“N-nice suggestion, Adrien.”

“Glad you liked it as much as me…” He pulled her in for a kiss, savoring the feeling, when they were interrupted by Alya clearing her throat. Barely any kiss-time had passed at all, that fiend.

“A-HEM, Marinette, your turn.”

Marinette had a good one. She pulled herself away from Adrien’s lips--their sixth kiss, she was pretty sure; they needed more. Draping one leg across Adrien’s lap, she delivered her confession:

“This one’s for you, Alya,” she said with an Alya-level smirk. “Never have I ever had a sexual fantasy involving an akuma.”

_Perfect,_ she thought. _I can deploy a fun little question to torment Alya--at last walking in on her and Nino won't be embarrassing to just ME anymore! Everyone will share a good laugh at Alya’s weird little sexual proclivities and finally,_ finally, _I will counter-troll my best friend._

And yet, to her horror, every single other person in the room took a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to lightly handwave some of the less-tawdry party stuff, because even though Adrien's room is a garden of earthly delights, I want those earthly delights to be more related to naughty teenage party games, and less related to video games and manga. I don't think that's toooooo huge of a surprise, given the rest of the fic....
> 
> The Kinsey Scale is mostly some bullshit, but I'm including it here to be a dumb little way to bring up self-identification and assessment of everyone's own desires, and have everyone realize that everyone's bisexual. Or biflexible. 
> 
> I would like to thank Lachesism for suggesting that I include this obvious lampshade of my lack of knowledge about French music. I would also recommend checking out Keeping Arnold! Chapter 4 is up! http://archiveofourown.org/works/7331095/chapters/17980066


	22. In Which There Is Kinkshaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The classmates share their akuma-related fantasies. There is kinkshaming, but not really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This chapter contains moderately frank discussions of sexual fantasies.
> 
> Happy miracuversary! Miraculous Ladybug premiered a year ago today (September 1st), and I'm unleashing this chapter a little shorter and a little earlier than I normally would, in celebration. The next couple chapters should take a little more time, but hey--it's a special day today.

_“A-HEM, Marinette, your turn.”_

_Marinette had a good one. She pulled herself away from Adrien’s lips--their sixth kiss, she was pretty sure; they needed more. Draping one leg across Adrien’s lap, she delivered her confession:_

_“This one’s for you, Alya,” she said with an Alya-level smirk. “Never have I ever had a sexual fantasy involving an akuma.”_

**_Perfect,_ ** _she thought_ **_. I can deploy a fun little question to torment Alya--at last walking in on her and Nino won't be embarrassing to just ME anymore! Everyone will share a good laugh at Alya’s weird little sexual proclivities and finally, finally, I will counter-troll my best friend._ **

_And yet, to her horror, every single other person in the room took a drink._

* * *

Marinette had left her purse on Adrien’s desk, next to a few other discarded purses, bags, and satchels. Tikki had finished off most of her cookies and gotten bored, phasing through the purse and desk to sneak around and look for Plagg. With all of the teenagers distracted by their game, she was in no danger of being spotted. Well, she was in no danger of being located. She was always being spotted, after all. It came with the Ladybug territory.

As soon as she sparkled through the desk, her kwami senses tingled with the tiny magical snores of a tiny magical cat. She flitted down into the warm embrace of Plagg’s trashcan, crossing her nubbly arms at the sight of his bulging, cheese-stuffed tummy tum-tum. She poked him with a nubbly foot, bringing him spluttering to consciousness.

“What? Huh? Never! Put my cheese down, Adrien! I earned it! We talked about this!” He flailed tiny nubbly limbs, blinking rapidly. “What--Tikki?”

“Party’s started, Plagg! They’re being cute, let’s watch!”

* * *

“Seriously, I don’t understand how you find this so entertaining,” Plagg said, shoveling Camembert into his mouth. “I can barely keep my eyes open,” he added, staring intently at the game circle, as he had been for the past uninterrupted hour. “So dumb.”

“Yeah, Plagg, sooooo dumb.” Tikki shook her head. Her partner in kwime (kwami crime) was notoriously lacking in self-reflection, and liked to stubbornly pretend to hate fun. “You know, I don’t think that big boy, Ivan, actually has a baguette with him. What do you think’s up with that?”

It was Plagg’s turn to stare at Tikki. “Tikki. Seriously. You’re not getting this?”

“What? Getting what?”

“Ivan. He’s got a really big… you know.”

“A big baguette? But he doesn’t! He brought drinks! Marinette brought the baked goods.”

Plagg closed his eyes, placing his nubbly hand where the bridge of his nose would be if kwami had noses. Presumably, if kwami had fingers, he would also be pinching the imaginary bridge of his nose. Plagg had apparently been watching too many human videos of people becoming exasperated; the gesture just didn’t work on a kwami body. “Tikki, Tikki, Tikki. So young, so innocent.”

“I am exactly as old as time, Plagg! Shut up!”

“So innocent, then, I guess.”

“You know the shit I’ve seen, cat!”

Plagg fell away from the edge of the trash can, helplessly giggling at a frustrated Tikki.

“What!?” she said. “What’s so funny?!”

Between laughs, Plagg replied. “I… I guess it’s just--heh--just because most Ladybugs are girls, right? You--hee hee heeeee!--just don’t keep up with innuendo? Heh! Haa!”

Tikki floated to the bottom of the trash can, stomping over on kwami foot nubs. For the second time that night, she poked Plagg with her foot, punctuating her sentences with a prod. “What. Do. You. Mean. Innuendo?”

“It means,” said Plagg. “That Ivan has something the size of a _baguette_ in his _pants_ , Tikki. Now, what do we know of that’s approximately the _shape_ of a baguette, which _boys_ usually have in their _pants_?”

“I don’t--” she began, and then she suddenly did. “Oh my gosh, Plagg! A baguette!?”

“That’s what they say!” Plagg descended into another peal of tiny laughter.

“I don’t--it can’t--but how--Plagg!”

Her compatriot kwami merely laughed.

“I just don’t believe it,” she said.

From outside the trash can’s confines, they both heard a quiet, awkward question being asked.

“Um, uh, so, uh… Ivan, I guess uh… I dare you to… let me squeeze your… dick.”

If Tikki had ears, they would have perked up. “Plagg! I think that was Juleka, and she’s going to squeeze Ivan’s… his… you know! We have to see!”

“Uh,” said Plagg.

“If it’s really baguette-sized!” said Tikki. “Surely that’s gotta be something of a record?”

“I bet it is.”

“I bet it is not! This situation practically screams of hyperbole!”

“In that case,” said Plagg. “How would you like to make a little wager?”

* * *

“Move over!” said Plagg. “You’re going to block my view! We both need to get a good look or the bet’s off.”

Tikki peeked out from under the orange traffic cone on the second floor of Adrien’s room, scooting over to give Plagg enough space to peer through the opening between the cone and the floor. They had positioned themselves right over the quarter-pipe entryway, hoping to get a good look at Ivan’s potential-baguette. Juleka and Ivan were in the middle of an awkward back-and-forth related to dick-grabbing, when Juleka’s startled exclamation brought the two magical critters to attention.

“Ivan, holy shit!”

“Language!”

Plagg’s and Tikki’s eyes both widened, pupils shrinking to pinpoints, as they witnessed firsthand what the circle of teens had been describing.

“Mylene, I am extremely impressed with you,” said the pale girl with at least a double-handful of Bruel-loaf under her fingers. She wasn’t the only one impressed. Tikki and Plagg stared until Ivan replaced himself--quite a feat of engineering on its own--and then shared a look. Wordlessly, they floated back to the safety of the garbage can, unsure how to process this new information.

Tikki handed Plagg a cookie--he’d won their wager, after all.

They sat together at the bottom of the dustbin, gaping in stunned silence. Not only were the jokes about Ivan’s southside danglers completely unexaggerated, but they may have fallen _short_ of the mark.

“Forget baguettes,” said Plagg. “The boy’s a fougasse. Maybe a couple stacked boules. Heck. Damn.”

“Is Mylene a superhero? Is she magical? How did… how did she…” Tikki shook her head, still aghast at the fact that Ivan could be swinging such a counterweight, and still walk in a straight line. It was a wonder he could wear standard sizes of underwear. He’d been an impressive sight when he’d initially whipped it out for Juleka, and then when she’d gone in for a squeeze, it turned out that he was a _grower_ , not a shower? Completely inconceivable.

A thought occurred to Tikki.

“Plagg, we cannot let Marinette and Ivan mate, I have to protect my Ladybug!”

“What?”

“She’d die! She couldn’t Miraculous Ladybug herself back together after a night with Ivan! Promise me!”

“Did you think they were going to?”

“I DON’T KNOW, PLAGG, BUT THE NIGHT IS YOUNG!”

“Well you better keep Adrien away from him, too! That kid is getting more and more experimental, sure, but he just doesn’t have the hips for it! He’d be a banana split in no time.”

“I guess if it ever comes up we could just get them to only do hand stuff?” suggested Tikki. “I don’t like to interfere in the love lives of our miraculous holders too often, but…”

“Desperate times, desperate measures, and all,” said Plagg. “Ivan’s dick is its own state of emergency.”

“Call the gendarmes,” said Tikki in agreement.

They spent a few more moments recovering from the emotional burden of seeing a penis of superlative dimensions. Eventually, they floated back to the lip of the rubbish bucket to entertain themselves by watching their miraculous holders and their classmates. It was quite a show--clothes were being discarded, sexually charged confessions were taking place, et cetera. And Tikki had an idea.

“Hey Plagg.”

“Yeah?”

“Never have I ever had to be dragged magically into my miraculous because I was busy eating cheese.”

“Okay I feel very attacked,” said Plagg, taking a bite of Camembert. “I think you did that just to target me.”

“Maybe!” said Tikki. “Your turn.”

“I can’t believe we’re taking entertainment cues from teenagers. Ugh.” He shook his head, and re-draped himself over the lip of the can. “Never have I ever been mistaken for a child’s toy.”

“Oh ha ha, Plagg,” said Tikki, taking a bite of one of her cookies. Rules were rules, after all. “Meanie.”

“You’ve pretended to be a cat twice and a toy once with this holder already. Who knows what deception is next?!” Plagg snickered, swinging his nubbly legs to bonk into Tikki. “Go ahead.”

“Never have I ever…” started Tikki. “Attempted to eat any piece of jewelry.”

“OH COME ON,” said Plagg. “I _thought_ it was _Camembert_ , which is a mistake that _anyone_ could make, and once I got the box open, I didn’t even _really_ try to eat it much.” For all his protestations, he took a bite of cheese. “You win this time, bug… But whatever. Never have I ever kissed a human.”

“Okay, first of all, it was in a loving and supportive way, and it was on the cheek so you can take your sass right on out of this trash home, mister,” said Tikki, guiltily chomping on her cookie. “I was being sweet and helpful and _someone_ could _learn something_ about that kind of thing from me. Adrien _obviously_ needs more kisses, you beast.”

“Isn’t that what Marinette’s for?”

“Obviously yes, but I mean from _you,_ you lump. Kisses from his understanding and supportive magical mentor slash heroic guide. Kiss Adrien.”

“No. Gross.”

“Do it.”

“Never.”

“You’ll break eventually, cat. Kiss him. Kiss his sweet face.”

“Now you’re talking like humans do to their pets, Tikki! Weird!”

“Well come on, Plagg, he’s got that dopey golden retriever look to him, sometimes. All the time.”

“... True.”

“Anyways never have I ever eaten Camembert.”

Plagg was aghast, crossing his nubbly arms over his chest and floating away from Tikki in a huff. “Oh, this is rich, THIS IS RICH.” His outrage didn’t stop him from taking a bite of cheese, of course. “Never have I ever eaten a cookie.”

“I see what you did there, Plagg.” She munched on a chocolate chip. “SO original. You know what? Here, eat this cookie for the next time I get you. I’ll eat that Camembert, let’s go wild.”

“Fine!”

“FINE!”

“And they say _I’m_ the chaotic, destructive influence. Very well, you _hedonist_. Never have I ever been spotted by a non-miraculous-holding human.”

“EXTENUATING CIRCUMSTANCES, Plagg! That totally overlaps with your previous one about being mistaken for a toy.”

“Eye of the beholder, Tikki.”

“Ugh.” She shook her head. “Well okay, never have I ever slept in a trash can.”

“You’re missing out.”

They both psyched themselves up for their Never Have I Ever bites. Neither had ever eaten the other’s treat of choice before, and switching gears to prepare themselves for the experience took a little while--ageless beings aren’t particularly used to change. They looked at each other, Tikki with cheese, Plagg with a cookie, and nodded, taking a bite at the same time.

“...Huh this is actually really good,” said Tikki, thoughtfully chewing the dairy delicacy. “Kind of rich and creamy and not as horribly fragrant as some of them.”

“Oh my miraculous,” said Plagg. “I could have been eating cookies this whole time and I wasn’t? What a mistake! Tikki, let’s switch holders, let me live in the bakery for a while.”

“No! It’s mine! You can’t--” She caught herself mid-exclamation and calmed herself. “That’s just not how it works, Plagg, you know that. N-not like I couldn’t handle being away from pastries, of course…”

“Holy shit, Tikki…”

“Language!”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That we’re proud of Adrien for making some friends and having a good time and pushing back against his emotionally distant father’s absurd restrictions? And that he’s beginning a mutually supportive and adorable romantic relationship with Marinette? Is that what you were thinking?”

“Okay well that, too, sure, but also…” He paused for dramatic effect. “Camembert croissants. Get Marinette on it.”

Tikki’s eyes widened, brimming with tiny kwami tears. “Oh my stars. Plagg, you beautiful magical kitten.” She flitted over to him, slamming him into a hug that bounced them both off of the side of the trash can. “That’s so brilliant I could just kiss you!”

“WHOA,” interrupted Plagg. “You’ve been spending too much time with Marinette! I don’t think we even have lips! Kissing doesn’t solve all of your problems, you know.”

“I’m just trying to express my appreciation for your idea, Plagg! Gosh!”

“Ugh, yes, my greatness is a burden, I know it too well.”

Tikki bonked him upside the head with a nub. They shared a laugh--it wasn’t every day they got to hang out with teens distracted enough that they could goof off a bunch. Kwami poker was fine, but Tikki winning every hand could get a little dull, and they had to be pretty quiet. Now, a dozen teens giggling and thinking about each other naked, with background music, too, meant that they could cut a little loose. It was nice.

“Hey, want to make a bet?” asked Plagg.

“On what?”

“On who’s going to hook up at this party first. Non-established pairings only. So Mylene and Ivan don’t count.” Under his breath, he added, “They probably haven’t healed up enough for another attempt…”

“Hell the _foutre_ yes,” said Tikki. Just like always, since time immemorial, she was entirely unwilling to resist a fun-sounding wager. “What’s the vig for Rose and Marinette? I think they’d be cute together.”

“Ugh, don’t tell me you’d be watching them!”

“Don’t kinkshame me.”

* * *

Marinette looked around the room in a daze watching every single one of her friends, eleven total teens, take a drink in response to her confession for Never Have I Ever. Each of them had formulated _some_ type of sexual fantasy about an akuma villain. She was aghast. It had never even _occurred_ to her to be into an akuma, and yet literally every person in her class was willing to bump uglies with a supervillain? How had she so dramatically misjudged everyone? She thought that she was being coy and teasing only Alya and Nino, but her confession had landed on _everyone_ . And judging by the sidelong glances, nervous giggles, and embarrassed shrugs, no one was _nearly_ as horrified at the concept as she was.

She made eye contact with every member of the circle. Her friends looked back, grinning at the perplexity in her expression. A confused “wuh… wh… how… wha?” escaped from her lips. Mlle. Wine was nowhere to be found, offering no assistance in suppressing her confusion or smoothing out her stuttering mumbles. Alya, Nino, Alix. All of them took a drink. Rose, Mylene, Alix, Kim.

 _Oh no_ …

She turned to Adrien, who had just pulled his cup away from his lips. With shock-heightened senses and dilated time, she could see him swallowing his wine, Adam’s apple bobbing appealingly even as she was stunned by the _reason_ he was drinking.

Even Adrien. Even _Adrien Agreste_ had fantasized about an akuma. Her world was shattered, and she rebuilt it by pieces as her glorious golden _gamin_ turned to look at her with a smile.

She had swept the circle with her confession, and before she could use her winning request to demand an explanation and somehow find a _reason_ for these weird sexual proclivities, Alya interrupted her train of thought.

“STORY TIME!”

Marinette, in a daze, managed to mumble a quiet “But… but why? Doing what?” And Alya leapt on it.

“ _Excellent_ question to the group, Marinette! Look, we all gotta know. Go around, tell everyone which Akuma you’d _foutre_ ! We are going to need _details_ and _specifics_ , people! Inquiring minds want to know!” Sassily placing a hand on her chest, she continued. “Being magnanimous and kind, I will go first. Also because Marinette _clearly_ had a certain… incident in mind when she made this confession...” With that, she winked at her pigtailed friend and gathered herself up.

She paused for dramatic effect, drawing out the spotlight. “I would hit it with… “ A second pause. “Lady Wifi SHUT UP MARINETTE I know you know.”

Laughter erupted, and Marinette peeped a surprised and slightly horrified squeal. “Ha! Conceited much?” asked Kim.

“Hey, go eat an egg, sports boy, I was a _putain_ hot akuma and don’t try to deny it.” No one did. A little self-obsessed she may be, but also smokin’ hot. “If it has to be someone _else_ … probably Pharaoh. Dude treated me like a princess.” She gave a sigh, even managed to blush a little bit, and as a response to the quiet chant of “Details! Details!”, went into her specific thoughts about Lady Wifi and Pharaoh.

“Okay, so as Lady Wifi I could put a camera _anywhere_ , and that’s _way_ hotter than watching yourself in a mirror, right? You could make your own little porn anywhere! It’d be so hot. And you could, uh… hypothetically… imagine that Ladybug had captured you and tied you up with her yo-yo… and s-since--” _Was that a little stutter!?_ Marinette gaped. “--her yo-yo was all busy tying me up, she’d maybe… try… purifying the akuma, but with her… mouth. And stuff. A-and the akuma could be anywhere, so…” she made a vague gesture with her hand. “And it’s not like I could _stop_ Ladybug from just doing _anything_ she wanted to me--and not like I _would_ stop her--so might as well, um. Enjoy it.”

As Alya struggled to suppress the second blush she had ever blushed, Marinette’s mind was racing. Sure, she had interrupted Nino and Alya in their Bug/Wifi cosplay, but she didn’t know what the… _narrative_ had been. And now that she did, the possibilities of letting her yo-yo tie someone down while she… explored at her leisure… suddenly both became apparent to her, and also _very_ appealing. _I’d better check for any other akumatized objects_ everywhere _, you villain_ …

She realized she was staring at Alya and potentially squeezing Adrien’s hand too tightly. She averted her eyes away from her friend (whose in-character pube arrangement was forever burned into her memory), but kept up the pressure on Adrien’s hand. It was _very_ nice to hold. But Alya had mentioned two akumas, and still had to go into the Pharaoh.

“The Pharaoh had… well it was kind of a sexy muscle dude thing going on, plus he could fly. So baseline, that’s pretty nice. Plus he’s royalty--Rose gets it. But--you know--it’s like, ‘oh no, dont sacrifice me, Pharaoh, I’ll be a _much_ better captive alive’ kind of a thing. Not that I… thought that out beforehand or anything.” She was working up to a third blush. What a moment! “And you see that’s when you _trick ‘im_ because the sacrifice has to be a _virgin_ so when you seduce him on the sacrificial altar--”

“Whoa, you have a whole thing planned for this,” said Nino.

“Shut up. Yes. After you seduce him, then you’re like ‘Ha! I have bested you!’ and he can’t complete the sacrifice and his power fades and you saved the day _and_ scored with a hot demigod. What’s not to like?”

After she finished, commentary followed.

“Sick, that was my brother,” said Alix. “Plus wasn’t he going to sacrifice you? Like for _real?_ ”

“A girl likes to get noticed! What can I say? Jalil could probably get hot if he tried a little.”

“Still gross. Also: _sacrifice you_.”

“Don’t kinkshame me.”

As everyone considered the various merits of getting turned on by a powerful supernatural monster bent on destruction, Nino took the spotlight.

“What was the big robot akuma that zapped everybody? The one Max turned into? The Gamer. That’s the akuma for me, hell yeah.”

“Damn dude,” said Adrien. “Your love for robots runs deep.”

“We only make out to Daft Punk,” said Alya, stage-whispering to Marinette. “I put on some Jagged Stone once and he shot me down.”

“You poor dear!” said Marinette. “Still weird, I’m so sorry! I’ll have a word with him. There are so many other widely known French musicians whose music he could play!”

“True, there are so many other musicians that the list boggles the mind--but none have the sensual electric circuitry of an android or a robot. Hell, there aren’t any cyborg musicians yet, and it’s the 21st century, what the hell?” Nino shook his head. “I’m more disappointed than you are, honestly. But yeah, I’d fuck the Gamer. Giant robots can do whatever they want to this boy.”

Max stroked his chin. “Robots, you say…”

“Yeah, robots can just keep _going_. Forever. Unfeeling, emotionless machines, designed only to sex you up, or whatever. And you’ve got until its nuclear battery dies to convince it that love is real.” He stared off into the distance, clearly envisioning a favorite tableau. “Just imagine… the new robot regime has conquered the world. Humans are used as entertainment for the robot elite. Daft Punk plays everywhere. Nino Lahiffe, human resistance fighter, has fallen into a forbidden tryst with a noble-at-heart sexbot. As he--as I--gaze into its visual sensors, the hyper-durable glass of the lens glints… the glint of true love.”

If anyone could melt the cold electrical heart of a robot, it would be this sweet DJ from France. Rose wiped a tear from the corner of her eye with a blanket, and both Mylene and Ivan’s lips were trembling. Even Kim looked a little misty-eyed.

Nino continued. “I might even give Rogercop a chance. He’s part robot, and all. And you know he’d be a freak. Magical techno-handcuffs, stun baton for a man-baton, the works. Plus his ride was _ill_.”

“Dude! That’s Sabrina’s dad!” exclaimed Kim.

“And he is _much_ hotter as an akuma! Don’t kinkshame me!”

“Your kink is welcome here, friend,” said Max. “We all accept your lust for cyberdick.”

“THANK you, Max! Max understands me,” Nino pouted, turning to Alya. “Put on the mask next time?”

“Well okay but only if you…” her words faded away, whispered as they were into Nino’s ear. He blushed and wriggled under her whispered demands, but he nodded. “ _With_ the suit on,” she finished.

“Obviously!”

“Okay not to interrupt,” said Mylene--it was her turn. “But on the topic of dads, can I just say no one gets to say they were fantasizing about the Mime? That’s my dad, that’s gross. Please let me have a good night’s sleep ever again.”

“But Mylene!” started Alix. “He’s all quiet and intimidating! What’s _not_ to love? Plus he can mime _anything_ and make it be real. _Think of the possibilities_!”

“I WILL DEFINITELY NOT BE THINKING OF THE POSSIBILITIES,” said Mylene, putting action to words as she clapped her hands over her ears and fell backwards. “Ivan! Soothe me with your body!” With a quick “okay,” Ivan rolled back to curl around her, mumbling a quiet “there, there.”

But of course, Mylene had to admit her akuma fantasy. She timed her confession so that it happened durring a laugh-break between Alix’s increasingly graphic descriptions of what she’d have the Mime create with his powers.

“I’d totally do Guitar Villain! He’s pretty much Jagged Stone, but tricked out! Just as good. And Ivan got me into loud music.” Nods all around. Guitar Villain was pretty much just a regular musician, but with a dragon. Pretty hot. Barely any kinkshaming required. Even if Jagged Stone was old, he had that kinda-sexy-old-guy vibe. A vibe which Alix stated the Mime also had--a statement which elicited a loud shriek from Mylene. The relationship between girls who sit next to each other every day in class is complex and mysterious, in many ways, but teasing each other about weird sex things is always a feature.

“I guess I’d like him to swoop down on my dragon and, uh… Well. You know that hip thrust thing he does on the long solos? Th-that. Standing up. Riding the dragon. Playing guitar. Also headbanging.” With each additional detail, she burrowed her face deeper and deeper into Ivan’s chest. She concluded in almost a mumble. “Magic Jagged Stone on a dragon can do whatever he wants to my body.”

From his reclining postion wrapped around Mylene, Ivan confessed his akuma fantasy. “I’ve had, uh… impure thoughts about Horrificator. Don’t kinkshame me.”

“Aww! Ivan!” said Mylene. “You romantic scallywag!” It’s not every day that someone wants to _foutre_ your monstrous akuma self.

“I mean, she’s my girlfriend for one, and, uh… when she’s bigger it might make things…” He blushed, the redness of his cheeks visible even while supine. “Uh, a little less… traumatic. For romance time.”

As Mylene moaned out an “ugh, _if only_ ,” the remainder of the class giggled helplessly. Of course Ivan would go for the Akuma who could handle the _entire_ pepper. It just made sense.

Only Juleka wasn’t laughing. “You don’t know. You have no idea,” she said. “Mylene is so strong and brave.” She shook her head, a thousand-meter stare hovering blankly her face. “You… you just don’t even know.”

“Horrificator looked kind of… cool and squishy and goopy. I think… I dunno. Maybe just bounce around on her, too? I mean, I like to bounce on… parts of Mylene already, so… yeah.” He blushed. No one could blame him for his preference, of course--Mylene had the widely-acknowledged best rack in the classroom, potentially in the school. Ivan was a lucky man--and not just in the trouser snake department.

He wasn’t quite finished, though. “I think also,” said Ivan, continuing. “Maybe Climatika. I don’t know, the powers were cool and I liked her color scheme… I don’t know. She was really pretty, and had those pigtails. But… yeah.”

 _Pigtails?_ thought Marinette. _I guess I could probably work something out with Ivan if I wanted a peek of what Juleka saw…_

Followed by: _Marinette, you naughty beast!_

Followed by: _Good idea!_

She snapped her attention back to the present moment. “The weather girl? Aurore, right? Yeah she’s pretty cute,” said Mylene in agreement. “You and the colorful girls…”

“So,” started Adrien. “Since she has weather powers do you think she would… blow you?”

Ivan turned a bright pink.

“Shhh, shhh, shhh, Adrien. No more words,” said Marinette, as she placed a finger on his lips. The rest of the class was awash in rolled eyes, slightly scandalized laughter, or both. Marinette got enough puns as her alter ego, so she was more or less immune, but shutting Adrien’s pretty mouth up meant that it was available for _other_ activities. Properly silenced, she pulled him down to her lips by his chin, savoring the feeling of him on her lips.

“And besides… _I_ don’t need powers to _blow_ , do I?” To drive home her point, she kissed him again, making sure to bring her lip-action A-game. Under her lips, Adrien’s entire body-- _especially_ that part--went rigid.

In the back of Marinette’s head, where Mlle. Wine was less powerful, a very different, and less confident, dialogue was happening. _Oh_ merde _I’m all talk, I need to ask Alya how to give a good blowjob._

While the part of her mind where Mlle. Wine had not yet ventured thought: _OH MY GOSH YOU’RE GONNA DO IT AAAAA!_

She had high hopes for the party, but it looked like both her conscious and subconscious were pretty excited about potential bedroom activities. Well, everything they were doing was currently a bedroom activity, since Adrien slept in a vast, cavernous Disneyland--so maybe sneak-away-to-the-closet activities. _Excellent idea, selfI_

When the rest of the circle was done “ooooh”-ing at Marinette kissing Adrien so boldly--apparently, her exhibitionist streak was deepening--it was Max’s turn.

“I have given a considerable amount of thought to which akuma would serve as the most entertaining and engaging sexual partner,” he began. “Taking into account such qualities as flexibility, destructive potential, revenge fixation, size, and resilience, among others,” he continued. He hadn’t stopped for breath, either--Max appeared to have startlingly impressive lung capacity. “And also factoring in my personal preferences and substantial volume of anime consumption, I believe I would be most interested in a sexual liaison with Horrificator as well. I… spend a lot of time on the internet.” Somehow, Max had said something that _finally_ made him look sheepish. “Her hair could certainly be interpreted as tentacles, and I do not think I need to elaborate on the utility of tentacles for sexual situations. We… have all seen things we cannot unsee. Some of us are merely more into it than others. Your kinkshaming is useless against me.”

He thought for a moment. “Either that, or Chronogirl. That _ass_. Seriously. I want it rubbed over every part of me.”

Everyone took a moment to appreciate Chronogirl’s ass. One’s real body and the form one took when possessed by an akuma were not always the same, but Chronogirl had _clearly_ kept Alix’s pristine posterior. Everyone acknowledged: Chronogirl got the booty.

“Why Max, I’m so flattered! I’ll let you see it, later, if you’re good,” said Alix, running a finger up and down his chest to snap his suspenders. “And you seem pretty good to me…”

Max and Alix smiled at each other, rapidly fluttering their eyebrows up and down, as Kim took his turn.

“Antibug, definitely. Still got a thing for Chloe, kind of. I mean, a hate- _foutre_ is still a _foutre_ , right?” Yes, it was. “Definitely hate-fuck her over the edge of a table in a fancy restaurant, knocking stuff over.”

“Language!” said Rose, horrified.

Kim continued without interruption. “Just absolutely _wrecking_ stuff, and her. Look I know it’s messed up, I had to switch to English for heaven’s sake.” He pondered for a moment. “Either her or Darkblade. That dude’s got something to prove, so you know he’d be wild. Plus, we could fight to see who got to call the shots for the night. Who got to have the sword, who had to be the peasant. You know.”

Everyone took an appraising look at Kim. Apparently, being competitive and dare-focused in everyday life extended itself into the bedroom. How well Kim would fare--athletic as he was--against a _literally armored knight_ in physical combat was an open question, but at the very least, there was no denying it now. Kim was a bit of a freak. Oooh la _la_.

“Damn, son,” said Nino, putting voice to everyone’s thoughts. “You’re rowdy.”

“The rowdiest,” agreed Kim. “And you _can_ kinkshame me. I’ll prove I’m the rowdiest, too. Let’s go and--”

“Dares later, Kim!” said Alix, interrupting him before he started an escalating dare-o-thon. “Okay, so I know how everyone has these kind of elaborate, complex sexual fantasies, but that’s not how I roll. I just like _hot people_ . So I’d totally mess around with Lady Wifi. Alya’s right. _Super_ hot. I want to bury my face between her thighs. Just _try_ to kinkshame me.”

“Well, I got this suit…” said Alya, as she glanced over to Marinette. Marinette, of course, blushed intensely. Despite the fact that Alix had made a ribald suggestion, and Alya had upped the ante with specifics, she couldn’t help but redden at the memory of seeing Alya being… _serviced_ by Nino while Alya was dressed up as her akuma identity. And Nino, of course, had a Ladybug suit, somehow…

 _Think about that another time,_ she told herself. _… Potentially in great detail_.

Juleka was up next.

“Uh, so I’d go for Horrificator, too. And Stoneheart. And Gamer. Who else was big and scary? Probably Kung Food, too. Uh… Yeah. Whoever’s biggest and scariest. That’s who I usually think about when I… nevermind.” She blushed under a swoop of bangs. “ I got, uh… needs. Wants. Of a specific type. I guess.” Under her breath, she added, “Maybe Guitar Villain’s dragon. Don’t kinkshame me.”

Going into her actual fantasies, Juleka hid behind her hair. “It’s just _really_ sexy to d-do stuff with something huge and p-powerful that could kill you or g-g-gobble you up or something. Like a big monster that’s taking the time to do… sex stuff. But to little ol’ me.”

Juleka’s confession wasn’t a huge surprise, deep freak though she seemed to be. She’d campaigned to--well, asked Marinette if she could--watch horror films in the library, and she’d had the least-frightened reaction to Horrificator. Her taste in girlfriends was _extremely_ not scary--Rose being the least intimidating person anyone knew, more or less--but when she had the desire to get her freak on, apparently she got it on in a _big_ _way_. She blushed Marinette-furiously behind her hair, and was clearly squeezing Rose’s hand with intense strength.

“I guess Horrificator is pretty popular, huh,” said Juleka. “Nice job, Mylene.” Mylene blushed; it wasn’t every day that you found out people were into your akuma persona. Hot? In a way? No one was quite sure.

“I’d choose Reflekta!” said Rose, beaming. “And not just because Juleka was her. I think she was really pretty and colorful and bright! Plus, she could make as many other Reflektas as you want!” Her brow furrowed, considering something. “Then again… she did have pretty long fingernails. That might… huh. Well, there’s other things. Yeah! Still Reflekta. I think i just like fancy pretty arty types! Especially if there’s maybe twelve of them! And they all get to play with you.”

She gave it another moment’s consideration. “Maybe also Le Dessinateur. I think he would really know how to treat a lady, from what Marinette said! Like on the river barge. Plus he could make things! And… hee heee... “ she drifted off, burying her face into Juleka’s bust again as she pondered the possibilities. “...with a little protruding bit for your _bijou_ and everything! Maybe Pixelator, too! As long as he took my picture in the regular way…”

She remembered something, then: “Oh! And, don’t kinkshame me! Right?”

Fun facts abounding tonight: Rose appeared to be quite the little exhibitionist. Posing for Juleka as a model, wanting lots of Reflektas to show her a good time, maybe being into Pixelator… Alya filed that knowledge away in a safe, sober corner of her mind. _Keep that roux on the back burner_. Plus, she might have a good mind for sex toys, with her comments about Le Dessinateur...

“Um, so,” started Nathanael. “I think we all agree about Chronogirl’s booty being really great. Probably because it was mostly A-Alix’s. And she, uh… butt. Good. Yeah…” He was having difficulty getting the right words out. “But honestly? I think Dark Cupid would be great. You know he wouldn’t, uh, go easy on you or anything. A pretty intense hate- _foutre_ , right? Th-there’s a lot of appeal in that. Y-yeah.” He lowered his face to his lap, covering his head with his sketchbook. “N-not like I’ve ever… drawn anything like that. Don’t kinkshame me…” he mumbled, soft enough that only Marinette heard him.

She heard him, and didn’t believe him for one second.

... _I have to see that sketchbook_ , she decided immediately. _And I don’t care if I have to steal his phone to do it._

 _No, self!_ she replied to her internal monologue. _No more phone stealing! Be good! Focus on the task at hand! Adrien’s body!_

She agreed with herself, and snuggled up onto Adrien some more. It was his turn to confess his akuma fantasy, after all.

“So, um… “ he began. “I don’t… well okay. Look. It would have to be the Bubbler, for me. I mean, how could I say no? Nino got akumatized specifically to give me a good time! The Bubbler is pretty much guaranteed to, you know… really be good at… stuff. For sex stuff.” He blushed, and huddled into Marinette some more. “I bet he’d put on some really good music, a-and then undress me real slowly and… I don’t know, he’s got that bubble wand, and n-nice hands. Plus, I mean… Nino’s my best friend. How could, uh… yeah. How could I resist that, you know?”

Adrien was avoiding Nino’s eyes for the moment, blushing and holding the back of his head with a soft “Don’t kinkshame me…?”, but Nino was peering around him at Marinette.

“So, hey, Marinette, just out of curiosity could I--”

“ _Later!_ ” she whisper-hissed in reply. “Dibs _!_ ”

“ _Nice,_ okay,” said Nino, giving her finger guns as Adrien composed himself.

The confessions had gone around full circle, from Alya to Adrien. The round of Story Time was complete. But Alya wasn’t done with Marinette so easily. She still had the Juleka treatment to receive.

“Well Marinette? We’ve all gone around. Now that you’ve had some time to think, which akuma would you hook up with?” she asked her friend. “You know, like Juleka did. Gotta round out the circle! Patch the holes. So who would it be?” She raised her eyebrows at her friend, fluttering her eyelashes like the perfect innocent she definitely was _not_.

_What akuma I’d fantasize about?! Aaaagh! No! Akuma are bad and not sexy even though watching Adrien with Nino dressed as the Bubbler would probably be okay! In fact that would be fine!_

_...Dammit their degenerate lusts are already influencing me!_ She was in a light panic. What could she do? There wasn't a single akuma that she could _honestly_ say she was attracted to. They were all evil or obsessed with revenge or weirdly old or something! It was kind of sweet how some of the couples were into each other's akumas, she supposed--Ivan liking Horrificator, Rose liking Reflekta except for the nails--but Adrien had never been akumatized! And there was no reason to give that any more thought, ever, for any reason!

Eleven eager faces stared at her, hungry for her confession of what akuma she would let topple the virtuous pillar of her chastity which was _reserved for Adrien goddammit_ . She didn't have Nino’s sexual obsession with mechanical men, nor Juleka’s fascination with huge scary things. Kung Food had been her uncle so _he_ was right out--this wasn't _goddamn hentai_ for _foutre_ ’s sake. But she had been challenged and her wine-sodden synapses would _not_ let her avoid the question.

_Think, Marinette, think! If you weren't Ladybug, who would you go for?_

And the answer was obvious.

“Copycat!”

Adrien spluttered around a sudden lungful of Shiraz, while the rest of the circle erupted in laughs and outrage.

“Not fair! That's just saying you're into Chat Noir! They were identical!” protested Mylene. “Chat Noir doesn't count or else we all would have gone for him!”

“Nah she played us! The question was about akumas and Copycat was an akuma!” said Nino. “Just no one thought of him because _everyone_ wants to bang Ladybug and Chat Noir, it’s too obvious. Real slick, Marinette.”

“Yeah I bet she is,” said Alya. Marinette took a brief gasp at the salacious comment and reached over to slap her friend on the shoulder. “Whaaaat? I didn't say because of Copycat…”

Marinette blushed and stuttered under the onslaught of her friends, stammering justifications for why Copycat should count, and blinking her eyes at the more detailed descriptions of what her friends would do to Copycat in their fantasies--you know, now that they knew he counted as an akuma fantasy. Her stammered descriptions of “well all that tight leather” and “he’s got that cocky little smile” and “his tail would be useful” were all met with nods and smiles. _Everyone_ had thought of banging Chat Noir, apparently. Even Marinette had, just… not in so much detail, before. And apparently, miraculous-holder akumas were only popular if they were exact copies; Antibug had _far_ fewer devotees than Copycat. Only Kim really lusted for the Antibutt, and that was mostly because he still carried a torch for Chloe. _Interesting to discover,_ she thought to herself.

It shortly became too much to handle, describing fantasies about a different person than the one she wanted most, with all of her friends prodding her to deeper chasms of debauchery. She turned to Adrien, a romantic partner so fresh that he still had that new-boyfriend smell, for support.

“You don't mind that I've fantasized about Chat Noir--I mean Copycat--do you, Adrien?” she asked, as all of Adrien's bones turned into pudding and tried to ooze out of his pores.

He tried to sip more wine to buy time to reply. “N-not at all, th-that's totally fine!” _No, Adrien! Work it! Remember the sexting! Use your flirtation skills!_ “As l-long as you t-tell me some m-more detail about your f-f-fantasies that is…” Adrien folded his hands over his lap. It wouldn't do to be sprouting even more of a Tumescence Tent this early in the night. “If that’s o-okay.” Don't want to be invasive, after all.

 _Well I guess I better try out some Chat fantasies and see how they work out,_ thought Marinette. _I can't lie to Adrien with anything resembling success… but oh my_ foutu foutre _I can't let Chat know about this._

She intended to be coy in her response, a little teasing, a little sexy. Or a lot sexy. But instead, thanks to her good friend and arch nemesis Wine, she got downright _tawdry._ “I promise to tell you _all_ about them… unless you'd prefer that I _show_ you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, if my history is any indication, everyone you know has a weird sexual fantasy or two swingin' around in their noggin, and even if you get PRETTY liquored up it can be hard to admit it publicly. This chapter was... a little bit based on some personal experiences with friends, let's just say. Point is, don't feel weird about your debauched sexual fantasies! They're everywhere! So many people have them!
> 
> Also look, I know I used the word "vig" not really accurately but I just love having Tikki say gambling stuff, what can I say.


	23. In Which Nino Is Trolled, And A Lesson Is Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few rounds of Never Have I Ever continue, and Nino makes a number of noble sacrifices for the sake of the party. A learning opportunity arises for Adrien and Marinette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has got some kissing and some boners in it.

* * *

_“You don't mind that I've fantasized about Chat Noir--I mean Copycat--do you, Adrien?” she asked, as all of Adrien's bones turned into pudding and tried to ooze out of his pores._

_He tried to sip more wine to buy time to reply. “N-not at all, th-that's totally fine!”_ **_No, Adrien! Work it! Remember the sexting! Use your flirtation skills!_ ** _“As l-long as you t-tell me some m-more detail about your f-f-fantasies that is…” Adrien folded his hands over his lap. It wouldn't do to be sprouting even more of a Tumescence Tent this early in the night. “If that’s o-okay.” Don't want to be invasive, after all._

 **_Well I guess I better try out some Chat fantasies and see how they work out,_ ** _thought Marinette_ **_. I can't lie to Adrien with anything resembling success… but oh my_ ** _foutu foutre_ **_I can't let Chat know about this._ **

_She intended to be coy in her response, a little teasing, a little sexy. Or a lot sexy. But instead, thanks to her good friend and arch nemesis Wine, she got downright_ **_tawdry_ ** _. “I promise to tell you_ **_all_ ** _about them… unless you'd prefer that I_ **_show_ ** _you.”_

* * *

After Adrien reduced his blood pressure to a much more reasonable 20,000/8500, and his mind returned to some semblance of cogent thought, he realized that the game had proceeded.

“Never have I ever… masturbated _ten_ times in a single day.”

“ _Alya I told you that in confidence,”_ said Marinette, taking a drink. “Why must you turn on me.”

“Because no one else is that impressive, girl!” And she was right--only Marinette and Max had drunk for the five-times-in-one-day confession, and only Marinette had been able to double it. No one else took a drink; no one else got close. The proud tradition of trolling specific individuals with calculated Nevers Have I Ever continued. The friends were cheering and applauding Marinette’s stamina and wrist strength, surprised that even the notorious bijou-polisher had managed double digit self-sessions.

Well--everyone was surprised except Alya and Adrien. Alya because Marinette had told her; Adrien because she’d texted him each time she started up again during their sext session on Thursday night..

Adrien thought back to his _extremely fond_ memories of Thursday night. If they hadn't decided to go to bed once it hit the very wee hours, he would have _easily_ had to join Max and Marinette in drinking to their quintuple-header masturbation achievements. As it was, though, masturbating four times in ten hours wasn't too shabby. He could be proud of himself for that; he wasn’t even sure his body could _handle_ Marinette-levels of onanism.

Per Alya’s expert advice, he'd refrained from self-satisfaction on Friday, and the pressure was _building._ The akuma-fucking admissions, the masturbation tallies, Marinette offering to let him watch her _enact_ some of her more Chat-Noir-related fantasies… He was nearing a breaking point--the breaking point at which the inseam of his pants would rupture, stitches sheared off by Tumescent Teepee pressure from his _incredible boner_. He was almost completely sure that he’d have to replace his pants, due to massive erection-related tears.

...Then again, if Marinette kept giving him those looks, he might need to replace them for an entirely different, _noixx_ -stain-related reason. It was all he could do to prevent himself from pulling a Nino and treating his pants like the world’s worst pain au chocolat.

As Adrien was trying to give himself the mental equivalent of a cold shower, Marinette’s hand was resting on his thigh. It was a comforting, warm pressure which did nothing at _all_ to dissuade him from bonerfeels. At the very least he had dressed to the other side, so his satisfaction pepper wasn’t in her immediate range. They weren’t going to accidentally repeat Saturday brunch’s hand-holding fiasco. She wasn’t likely to accidentally write the Constitution of 1793. _Does that fit in the timeline correctly? I can’t remember. Mlle. Wine strikes again and I can only think about Marinette’s hands on my--NOPE gotta stop. Other topics, other topics, other topics…_

_Oh hey Nino’s talking time to pay attention, good, yes, a distraction._

“Never have I ever… sent nudes.”

Nino looked around the room, eager to see who he would thoroughly own with his admission.

No one drank.

“Wait--wha?” He spun to Adrien. “But didn’t you and--”

Adrien shook his head. “No nudes, _frere_. Just, you know, uh…” Suddenly realizing that people were looking at him (something he was used to) and listening to what he said (still a new and unique experience), he faltered. Even Wine-Adrien wasn’t quite sure how much of Thursday’s photoshoot he should be describing. “Uh, nevermind.”

“And Marinette--” Nino continued. But she shook her head too.

“Sorry, Nino. Just, um. Sort of… hints. Being a tease. You know.”

Nino whipped around, looking from classmate to classmate. “No one? Really? Wait! What about Alix? Last party, she sent a nude to Max!”

“Nuh uh uh, Bubbles! If you recall, Juleka and Rose were keeping me totally covered. Practically nunnish! No nudes from these boobs.”

“But Rose said that Juleka--”

“She _took_ pictures, so I didn’t need to _send_ her any,” said Rose. “We cut out the middleman!”

“So that means--” said Nino, before Alya cut him off.

“That you gotta send _me_ one,” she said.

The circle tittered and giggled at the scandal. Of course, nothing could be less scandalous than Alya, of all people, asking for a nude from her boyfriend--but when you’re playing Never Have I Ever, the real scandal… is in your heart. Plus, flustering Nino was its own reward. Nino, for his part, was protesting.

“But Alya! My virtue, my chastity! I won’t be able to wear white at my wedding!”

“Look, Nino, I’ve already peeped the D _quite_ thoroughly and now I need a little memento! To keep Little Nino close to my heart.”

“Yeah while you’re at it,” said Alix. “Maybe we could all get one.”

“I’m down,” said Kim. “Do you have my number?”

“You could send it to the group chat, maybe…” added Juleka, giving Alix a little glance. Apparently, the little pink gal had been telling stories. “You know, so we would all… know that you sent it.” Was that a wink she gave him?

“And so that we could look at it!” added Rose. Juleka blushed, nodding, with a little “yeah…”

“OKAY HOLD ON, who here wants to get a dick pic from me? Or as we say in France, _un pic du dick_?”

 _Well, I guess now that we’ve all got the option…_ thought Wine-Marinette, as she raised her hand, over Marinette-Marinette’s objections. She was quickly joined by the rest of the circle, excepting Nino. _Everyone_ wanted a peep of the Nino-D. Now that everyone in the circle had gone over--in quite some detail--their akuma-related sexual fantasies, the ambient Teen Sexual Tension energy was at an all-time high, and Nino’s bod was widely acknowledged to be hot.

Nino sighed. “Well this is it then, dudes. I never-have-I-evered, and lost, and now I’m about to have evered. Dang. What a day.” He stood, arms akimbo, and sighed again, with a smile playing across his lips. Rose may have acted out the final scene of a shoujo manga earlier, but for this moment, _Nino_ was going to be the dramatic one. “ _Well I guess_ ,” he said, “If no one can _live_ without a Ninude, then I _guess_ I’ll single-handedly save this party. Adrien, you’re welcome. Also Adrien, can I borrow your bathroom, bro.” It wasn’t a question, so much as an obvious consequence.

Adrien waved him to the facilities as Nino raised a dramatic hand to his forehead and swept off to denude himself. Alya elbowed Adrien.

“Hey Adrien, can you turn up the heat a little bit more? You know, so that Nino doesn’t get cold or anything.”

“Great idea!” said Adrien. He gave Marinette’s thigh a little squeeze as he hopped up and scampered up the stairs. He strategically readjusted himself mid-scamper, so that his southern tumescence wouldn’t be _quite_ so obvious. He got to the thermostat, the mouse-fart-quiet heaters turned on, and the room got a little toastier.

 _Perfect_ , thought Alya. _Now it’ll be slightly easier to get people naked,_ and _we all get to see Adrien come down the pole again_ . _Perfect_.

Marinette, of course, was watching him come back down. Her eyes had been following him--particularly in the butt area--since he had stood up. This time, when Adrien descended the pole (something Marinette herself hoped to be doing eventually, in whatever capacity she could), he leaped backwards onto it, grabbing it simultaneously with his calves and arms high above his head. He did the spinning thing again, twirling around the pole as he arched his back and pelvis out--revealing that pristine stretch of _abs_ again. His eyes were closed, and his head was thrown back, with his cheek resting on the pole. The expression on his face was pure _rapture_. Marinette caught herself making little circles with her head as she locked her eyes onto his outthrust hips and bare midriff, spinning around the pole to the ground floor.

Adrien caught her staring, but didn’t have the good grace to even blush. _Is that how he--_

Alya interrupted, preempting her thoughts with her own question. “Nice descent, Adrien! You always come down the pole like that?”

“What? Oh yeah, you know. Just gotta make it fun getting down! I do it every time now. Don’t even barely think about it.” He returned to his seat next to Marinette, returning his hand to her lap, right as everyone’s phones buzzed.

Nino had come through. Everyone was treated to a charming rear view of Nino, reflected in one of Adrien’s wall-sized mirrors. He had taken a page from Marinette and Adrien, and decided to tease a bit more than his high-handed talk about dick pics would indicate.

In a surprisingly well-composed photo, he was only wearing his hat, and only visible from behind. He was looking over his shoulder to line up the shot in the mirror perfectly--just a sliver of amber eye exposed. Identity: concealed. The hand without the phone was bent towards his front--even with his back to the mirror and package out of sight, it looked like Nino wanted a little coverage. Or maybe he was flexing. Regardless, nice!

Nino had posed himself to emphasize his height and the long lines of muscle running up his legs. He was no Alix or Kim, but he had some pretty good definition in the legs and shoulders, especially for the mostly sedentary life of a DJ. And he _did_ have a very cute butt. Alya clicked her tongue, whispering a soft “nice.”

The circle laughed and trilled and oohed and aahed at Nino’s nude, with several loud lamentations that they did not get to see the Ninoodle, but admitting that this definitely counted for the dare. “Excellent choice, Alya,” said Mylene. “Not too bad at all, at least from behind.”

“You should see the front!” said Alya with a laugh. Her normal cackle had been softened to a mere giggle with alcohol and the thrill of getting her very cute nerd of a boyfriend bare-ass naked and showing him off to everyone. Truly, every girl’s goal at a party. “Heck, you may even get to tonight…” Mylene gave a little squeal of glee.

Nino emerged from the bathroom, tugging his pants up his legs over bright green boxers. “I hope you monsters are happy,” he said. “I wouldn’t commit my perfect body to digital film for just _anyone_ you know.”

“Oh Nino!” said Alix. “It’s you! I thought that _surely_ it had to be Adrien, since what are the odds we’d have _two_ models at the same party?”

“Your pose was pretty good, you know,” said Wine-Adrien. “You want me to see if I can get you some shoots for the Spring line?”

“Excellent composition,” added Marinette. “Good framing, and I liked how you kept the hat on.”

“Well it was either that, or dangle it off of… you know, nevermind,” said Nino.

“Maybe for your next one you can do that,” said Nathanael. “Just putting it out there.”

“ _He_ would just be _‘putting it out there,’_ all right!” added Kim. “Maybe get a smaller hat, how about?”

“Nah the problem is the hat _was_ too small,” replied Nino.

“You can keep the pictures coming, if you want, just saying,” said Juleka.

“Damn, dudes, everyone wants a peek at me, I gotta have Alya start writing day passes,” said Nino.

Alya tapped a finger against her chin, thoughtfully. “I suppose I could rent Nino out to certain responsible parties… on a trial basis, of course.”

“Reasonable rates,” added Nino.

“Is there a bulk discount?” asked Alix.

“I’ll have my people talk to your people.” Alya winked at the pink girl, tugging down her top flash a bit of cleavage. “I’m sure we can work something out… WINK.”

For the next round, Mylene stated that she had never kissed Alix. Ivan, Alya, Nino, Nathanael, Juleka, Rose, Max, and Kim all drank. A small scandal ensued, as everyone remembered that she’d kissed _seven_ classmates as of the early parts of Marinette’s party--and then gotten up to nine with her threesome with Alya and Nino. Only eight people in the room had kissed her--so who was number nine!?

“Uh…” said Alix. Eleven pairs of wide-open, demanding eyes stared at her, asking the obvious question: Chloe or Sabrina?

“Uh…” she said again. Eleven pairs of eyes scooted closer.

“... Sabrina,” she admitted.

Chaos erupted.

“I _knew_ it!” shouted Wine-Marinette. “I _knew_ she had to be at least a little okay!”

“Oooh Alix! How did you get her away from Chloe?” asked Rose.

“What was it like?” asked Ivan. “She’s kinda… repressed, I guess?”

“Okay look,” said Alix. “This is going to sound bad but… it was kind of a dare.”

Everyone looked at Kim.

“What!?” he said. “She lost fair and square. And so she had to, you know. Go out with Sabrina.”

“She’s actually pretty okay! I mean once she realized I just wouldn’t ever turn in the homework she did for me. We sorta hung out--Chloe was out of town--and... well. But yeah, it’s uh… just don’t make it weird for her, okay? Chloe makes fun of her enough as it is.” Alix a little sweet to someone? What a treat! Everyone agreed: this particular confession, even more than the rest, stayed _very much_ at the party.

The next few rounds went quickly. Ivan had never masturbated in time to any Daft Punk song; Nino drank, obviously. Max had never drawn any naked people--Nathanael and Marinette drank, even after protests of “Live models are just a part of art curricula!” and “Well technically they were theoretical nudes of akuma villains, do those count as people?” Eyebrows were raised. Nathanael’s inner freak was coming out some more; Wine-Nathanael apparently had plenty of to share, in terms of his artistic endeavors.

After hearing all the nude modeling chat, Rose turned to Nathanael, blinking extremely large eyes with extremely long eyelashes at him. “Will you draw me like one of your French girls, Nath? Or as we say in France, draw me like one of your girls.” Nath blushed and yanked at his collar like an awkward ‘80’s comedian.

The game continued. Kim had never walked in on a parent naked; everyone else except Adrien had. It was obvious Adrien hadn’t, because his face was not lined with wrinkles and drawn with horror, and his hair had not been shocked white at the sight of Gabriel _foutu_ Agreste denuded.

Alix had never sewn anything risque--Marinette was wearing something risque she’d sewn _right then_ , and Juleka drank as well (interesting!). Juleka had never appeared in a magazine (and barely any pictures), but Adrien, Marinette, and Kim all had--Adrien was a model, while Marinette had made it into that issue of Metal Lourd, and Kim had appeared in a few sportier publications. Rose had never hooked up on a chaise longue, but Alix, Alya, and Nino all took a drink; apparently no one else had defiled Marinette’s furniture in the night.

Finally, Nath dropped the big one:

“Never have I ever had sex. I mean, like, pelvis on pelvis sex. Whatever you figure counts. I-I’m a virgin, I guess is what I mean.” Presumably, pastries wielded by Alix didn’t count.

Everyone eagerly looked around. “Virginity” was an obviously bullshit artificial distinction, but it still held some sway, of course--and finding out whether anyone besides Mylene and Ivan had made it all the way to First Consul Bonaparte was a fun little _treat_.

Mylene and Ivan drank, no huge surprise there, given their pelvic injuries from earlier in the week. So did Juleka and Rose--they’d been together long enough that it wasn’t much of a surprise at all, _and_ they didn’t even have Ivan’s prodigious peninsula to deal with. The last major question, of course, was about the perennial triad--and then Max, Kim, and Alix all took a drink. Faux-scandalized (but not surprised) giggles erupted as the friends cheered each other on. But Marinette was slightly surprised by who had _not_ drunk.

“Alya? You’ve seriously never had sex?” she asked her friend. “I figured you were light years ahead of us all!”

“What can I say?” she said with a lopsided smile and a brief, insubstantial blush. “I got a birthday coming up. And it’s not like Nino’s wanting for action.”

“True,” said Nino over her shoulder. “ _So_ true.”

“I’ll probably get around to it one of these days,” she continued. “And believe you me, when I do, you’ll _hear about it_ . Like on the _news_. I’m not going to half-ass my first time, you better trust me on that, girl.”

Marinette was all too familiar with the lengths to which Alya would go to get a scoop, or follow an Akuma, or set her best friend up with Adrien. If she applied all of that to getting spectacularly _fucked_ ? Marinette suppressed a shiver of excitement. _Now_ that _would be something to see_ …

“I’ll look forward to it,” said Marinette.

“That’s right you will,” replied Alya. “Heck, you might _be_ there.”

Marinette gave a little gasp and felt a familiar spark of warmth light inside her--in the lower bits. Under her hand, she felt Adrien’s thigh shift, and she heard his breathing quicken; he tried to disguise it by clearing his throat. Alya just winked.

It was Adrien’s turn, and Marinette felt him shift again, under her hand. It felt like his pants were becoming… more taut? Tighter, somehow? But how could that be, unless…

 _Oh_ , she thought, glancing down at his lap. He’d placed a pillow over himself, disguising the telltale _bulge_ that had so entranced her at her last party. As he started his confession, she licked suddenly-dry lips.

“Never have I ever…” His thigh shifted again, and Marinette thought she could almost feel where he was expanding into the tight confines of his pants. _Maybe he’s maneuvered it to_ this _side of the trousers, now…_

“Never have I ever,” continued Adrien. “Fingered anyone else. So, uh, the Directory, to use the metaphor.”

Everyone drank except Marinette--apparently the whole class spent plenty of time with their fingers in the class’ holes. _Well, the night is young_ , thought Wine-Marinette and Marinette-Marinette at the same time, as Adrien blushed and everyone in the circle looked at her with lips pressed tight together, holding in a laugh.

“Oh goddammit,” she said. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

She blushed and buried her face in her hands, and then her whole self into Adrien’s side, as she mentally cursed Mlle. Wine. _How_ dare _you, Mlle. Wine? How_ dare _you make me say things I thought I was just thinking? UGH. No_ matter _how true they are!_

Surreptitiously, she checked Adrien’s nails. Well-manicured and smooth, no lengthy or sharp looking bits. _Okay we’re still on with Operation Get Marinette Fingered_.

Eventually, her classmates (minus Adrien, the sweetest boy, who was too busy blushing and trying to conceal a reasonably-sized baguette in his pants) stopped laughing at her for long enough that she could take her turn.

 _Well okay,_ she thought. _Two can play the stuff-in-orifices game_.

“Never have I ever had anything in my butt that you wouldn’t normally find there.” She gave a small, sassy little grin as she looked around the circle to quite a few of her friends going bottoms-up with their drinks to admit they had gone up-bottoms with other things.

Everyone drank except Adrien and Alya. “What can I say,” said the latter. “Getting to that, too.” From across the circle, Alix gave her an eyebrow raise and a nod.

“Adrien, bro,” said Nino. “You’ve never put stuff in your butt? Come on, man, put stuff in your butt.”

“What? Uh… no? I mean, maybe? I dunno! I didn’t know that was a thing!”

 _Poor sweet innocent Adrien_ , thought Marinette, who was the second poorest, second sweetest, and second most innocent in the room, probably. _You can put so many things in a butt, even I know that_ . Adrien looked at her, blushing intensely. Under her hand, she _definitely_ felt Adrien’s sensual pepper twitch. _Oh no… that was also out loud..._

Marinette clapped a hand over her mouth. _I really have to remember to keep words inside my head sometimes… at least this time it was quieter. Quick, kiss Adrien as a distraction._ She did so, enjoying the double-swirl from both being a little drunk, and from the feeling of Adrien’s lips on her own.

“Adrien, stop kissing Marinette and start putting things in your butt,” said Nino.

“Shhh, Nino, later. I’ll take it from here,” said Marinette. He responded by blushing slightly too much, and kissing her back harder.

“No no no, make _him_ take it. In the _butt_. Seriously, the butt.”

“Shut up, Nino,” mumbled Adrien, around Marinette’s lips. “Priorities.”

Eventually the butt-stuff giggles died down enough for Alya to take her turn. She chose to troll Nino, and did so in the most inconvenient way.

“Never have I ever dressed up as Ladybug...”

 _Goddammit, Alya_ , said Marinette, _finally_ managing to keep her internal monologue internal.

“...for sexual reasons.”

_Oh phew. Haven’t done that._

_… Yet…_ She eyed Adrien’s two-storey windows, making sure she could remember how to get them open from the outside.

Nino and Mylene took a drink. Adrien’s eyes got very, _very_ round, and his hand squeezed Marinette’s thigh hard, involuntarily sliding up her leg. As her classmates talked about how they’d all _love_ to have a Ladybug outfit so they could _do things_ in it, Marinette slowly raised her eyes to Adrien’s.

She whispered to him. “Is that… something you think you’d like?”

He nodded, unable to speak. Marinette? His perfect girlfriend, dressing up as his perfect superhero partner? _Foutu_ YES.

Somehow, he found the ability to use words again. “D-do you have any more of that Ladybug fabric?” he asked.

Marinette smiled at him. “Wink.”

The circle devolved briefly into personal fantasies about how great Ladybug was, and a lively discussion of how much it was acceptable to flirt with Ladybug if she was currently rescuing you from an akuma. The winning vote was “just a little bit, because she’s probably busy and shouldn’t,” followed by “shamelessly, I’ll do anything.” Marinette and Adrien, of course, were too lost in their own private thoughts about getting each other naked but for some red-and-black-spotted fabric.

Once Adrien had returned his heart rate to a normal speed, it was Nino’s turn.

“Never have I ever… shaved or otherwise entirely removed any of my pubic hair,” said Nino.

“Liar!” shouted Alya. “Valentine’s day! You beast!”

“That was a very close trim and you know it! Drink!”

“Why Alya,” said Marinette, as she took a drink. “Do tell--have you ever shaved any… _symbols_ into your bush?”

“Shut up, and maybe!” She took a drink. Around the room, others were drinking: Adrien and Marinette had, as well as Max, Kim, Alix, Juleka… wait a minute. “Wait a minute… _everyone_ ?” She turned to Nino with a gleam in her eye. “Why Nino… it does appear that everyone _else_ has landscaped the ol’ garden of earthly delights. I do believe Judge Alya declares a break to--”

“Hey whoa! I’m not going to be talked into shaving myself at a party when I’ve got a spare dare to give!” he declared. “I did a confession that got everyone else!”

“Who said _you’d_ be the one shaving them?” said Alya. “ _Wink_.”

* * *

As Alya dragged a weakly protesting Nino off to the bathroom for some barber work on the nethers, the rest of the party decided that a little break was in order. It was getting later on in the day, so everyone helped themselves to the mound of pastries Marinette had furnished, and to the various other victuals partygoers had brought. It was considerably louder and more exciting than Adrien had ever seen his own room. With the potential exception of the Jackady invasion. Everyone ignored the querulous questions from the bathroom of “Hey is that a safety razor? Can you get a more safe razor? What’s the safest razor they make?”

To Adrien, everyone seemed to be teetering slightly--or maybe that was just him--and giggling and touching each other more than they normally did. Juleka had struck up a conversation with Ivan in the corner, while Rose leaned on Nathanael as he was in the middle of a conversation with Alix. Kim and Max had pulled Mylene aside and were grilling her for details about _something_ \--potentially Ivan’s _Tour Eiffel_ \--and had wrapped their arms around her, as well as each other. Who _knew_ what Alya was up to, denuding Nino’s private bits of hair in the bathroom with his best razor. And he and Marinette had become considerably more horizontal on the couch. The had cuddled up, observing the festivities, trying to touch as much of the other person with as much of themselves as they could. Legs tangled, they’d made a pretty good pretzel.

Adrien was trying to be a good host. He really was. He didn’t have a lot of experience hosting, so everything he could do to make his first legitimate, non-akuma-related, party be a success he wanted to do.

But he _also_ had an extremely cute and talented and probably (definitely?) into him girl wrapped around his body and putting her hands on his chest, and _a boy has needs_. So the party was mostly left to fend for itself as Adrien spent the best kind of quality time with his brand-spankin’-new girlfriend on the couch.

 _Brand_ spankin’ _new, you say…_ , Wine-Adrien thought to himself. Followed by, _You cad, don’t be like that! This isn’t even your second date! And also control your boner!_ The latter diatribe was, of course, from the much more chivalrous Adrien-Adrien.

Glancing down he noticed two things: one, he was indeed dangerously close to poking Marinette with the Agreste Passion Cone in his pants, and two, Marinette’s butt was looking _very_ fetching in the tight pastel-pink leggings. The latter issue was exacerbating the former.

Marinette had snuggled her head into his side and was enjoying having an entire _Adrien_ to herself, when she noticed where he had been looking, She gave a quick glance around--everyone had migrated to a semicircle around Adrien’s main TV, where Kim and Alix were duking it out in Ultimate Mecha Strike III. Kim had chosen the black cat robot (having learned nothing from the Animan incident, apparently), and Alix had chosen the deadly shrimp robot. And it looked like they were pretty evenly matched--both had spent enough time with Max to learn some of his tricks, and neither were as good at digital contests as they were at physical ones.

For Marinette’s purposes, however, they were all _distracted_ . And when Mlle. Wine is informing your strategy, a _distracted_ party next to you and a pretty boy is functionally the same as being _entirely alone_ with him.

Adrien felt Marinette squeeze his legs with her own, pulling herself up closer to him. One hand turned his face towards hers, her eyes already closed, and pulled him into a kiss. His friends were distracted, and there was an _extremely_ good person to kiss who was kissing him, so Adrien let his hostly duties slip right the _foutre_ away and kissed her back.

She was lying next to him, with her body perpendicular to his, draped across him. His hand traced up her back, making her breathe little gasps into his mouth as their lips played together. He felt her hand bunch in his sweater, around his biceps, while the other snaked around to the back of his neck to hold him as close to her as possible. They were both deeply invested in picking up where they had left off from their interrupted makeout session in the entryway. Adrien tried to quiet the short, sharp breaths he took in between kisses, so that they were more gasp and less moan. Marinette’s leg swept across his lap, directly onto his Romance Lump, and his hands involuntarily squeezed into her shoulder and side. He could feel as her breathing sped up, and could taste her heartbeat on his lips.

One of her hands slid down from his neck to his shoulder to his arm to his wrist, and pulled it lower, lower along her body. Adrien wasn’t breathing anymore, just kissing and being kissed and feeling every centimeter of clothing and flesh under it that his hand was traversing. She deposited his hand onto the curve of her ass and gave his hand a guiding squeeze, pressing it into her for him. His breath left him all at once in a rushing sigh as he correctly deduced that she _definitely_ wanted him to squeeze her butt, and he did so with all the pent-up gusto from a devastating thirty-six hours of not getting off. It had been difficult, sure, but it was _really_ putting a desperately sexy edge on every interaction with this beautiful woman. He sank his fingers into the firm muscles of her ass and pressed himself into the thigh she had draped across his pelvis, earning a quick, shuddering moan from her. Her leg pressed back into him and she bunched his hair in her fist, kissing him a redoubled passion that sent shivering lightning rods to every part of his body, and then struck each of them with devastating bolts.

This kissing was more intense and deep and _horizontal_ than any of their previous kisses--they weren’t upright anymore, and were touching so much more than just their lips and hands. While the first kiss had exploded Adrien’s reality away from the present moment, _this_ kiss--and its concomitant gropings--kept him _very_ much grounded in his physical body. There was simply _too much_ happening to it to ignore, and he wanted to remember all of it. The feel of Marinette’s breasts pressed into his chest, the pressure of her thigh across his hips, the taste of her tongue on his own as they curled and danced with each other on the couch, a quick, swingy one-two step that brought a breathless, hungry sigh from both of them every time they came up for air.

After a brief infinity of wracking Adrien with passion, Marinette withdrew from his lips and popped her head up over his shoulder. Their compatriots were glued to the television, Alix and Kim neck and neck in an Ultimate Mecha Strike duel.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Is there… somewhere more private we can go?”

Adrien’s heartbeat--already pounding into defibrillator territory--sped up. _Yes, yes, one thousand times yes, we have an entire house to excuse ourselves to so that we can continue doing what we’re doing, yes._

Then, he frowned internally. Externally, he wasn’t quite up to making facial expressions again. _But cold and lifeless marble hallways are not the best in terms of romance or comfort… wait a minute._

“Yeah! M-my closet is pretty big actually, and we can go in there. It’s got, uh, stuff to lie down on, too…”

Marinette was a steady rosy pink, but accelerated to a full fledged blush for her next question. “So… do you… would it be okay if we went there? Like is that alright with you? We don’t need to if--”

He interrupted her accidentally. Normally, he would _never_ dream of interrupting someone, but he was decidedly more excited than normal. “YEAH yes definitely that sounds good, let’s go ahead and go yep yeah!”

As quietly as possible, accompanied only by Marinette’s soft “heehur heh hurr hee hee hurrr hmmm heee hrrr,” they sat up from the couch and slunk towards the closet door, right next to the bathroom. None of the partygoers noticed their egress, swallowed by the always-entertaining rivalry between Kim and Alix.

In the few trembling steps between the couch and the closet, both Marinette and Adrien shared one single thought:

 _Oh my gosh what are we gonna do what are we gonna do what’s gonna happen!? I’m in over my head! What am I gonna do!_ The idea to migrate to the closet was an _excellent_ one, as suggested by Wine-Marinette and Wine-Adrien, but what to _do_ in the closet was a little bit overwhelming. Romantic experiences were neither teen’s strong suit. Yes, they could get alone, but… where do you really go from there? They had only vague ideas, an absurd French Revolution metaphor, and a cursory familiarity with how their hands could interact with _other_ people’s private bits.

Adrien had just cracked the door to the closet, determined to wing it, when the bathroom door burst open.

“Okay party people! Nino’s spick and span, smooth as the Bubbler’s bubble butt. See for yourself, or ask for a squeeze--we used one of Adrien’s nice razors with the thirteen blades.” Alya had a white towel wrapped around her arm and was brandishing a foam-speckled safety razor. “Anyone else wanna go? I just had a face full of dick and love of landscaping! Barber Alya, party queen!”

Slightly pale, Nino followed her out of the room. “I feel like my junk is a competitive swimmer.” He caught sight of Marinette and Adrien sneaking off to Closet Fun Time. He dragged Adrien off, his pace slightly askew from the feeling of unfamiliar, pubeless junk between his legs. “Bro, I have been intimate with your razor in a way I never thought I would be. We are razor bros now.”

Alya caught Marinette’s eye, and her eyes widened as they shared A Look. A look which, on Alya’s end said “I am so sorry, I did not mean to cockblock you,” and on Marinette’s end said “WHAT DO YOU DO WITH A PENIS?”

As Adrien was ripped away by Nino, Marinette put words to her look, pulling Alya aside to the wall by the closet. She spoke in a hushed, frantic whisper. “Alya help me! I want to drag Adrien into a closet but what do I do when I’m in there? I’ve never interacted with a penis! It’s a mystery!”

 _My moment has arrived_ , thought Alya.

“Okay girl here’s what we’re gonna do. First of all, thank you for giving me a great idea for later.”

“What?”

“Second, we’re gonna start you off small and simple and you can work up from there, alright?” She looked around the room, spotted what she needed, and dragged Marinette over to a table of snacks.

“W-what?” said Marinette, highly uncertain about the role comestibles could play in her romance education.

She plopped a pastry into Marinette’s hand. “Take this over to Nino and ask him what to do with it. We’re starting with hand stuff and we’ll move on to advanced techniques once you’re comfortable.”

“B-but--Alya!”

“It’ll be fine! Nino’s a great teacher and totally chill. I worked this out with him before, so he’ll be expecting it. And you _always_ want to take a dude’s word on what works for handjobs.”

“Oh… oh! Is--is that okay? To talk to Nino about?”

“Girl, I coached him for just this moment. Trust me. Now take that patisserie prize and _go_.”

* * *

Adrien let Nino spout about his pube-shaving escapades with Alya for a while, as he absentmindedly watched Kim lose to Alix in round 23 of their Ultimate Mecha Strike duel. The shit-talking was flying fast and hard between them, and Nino kept switching between being thrilled that Alya was giving his junk such lavish attention, being terrified of razor blades near the Ninoodle, and being impressed at the quality of Adrien’s razors.

“Seriously dude, I thought before that like four razor blades was more than enough, but I had no idea the results you could get with thirteen blades. I think Alya gave me a smoother shave on my coinpurse than I ever had on my face.”

“Yeah, that’s great Nino.”

Nino was barely paying attention, enjoying the _act_ of confiding as much as the fact that someone was _listening_ to him confiding. Adrien’s mine was entirely elsewhere.

_I really hope Marinette and I can sneak off to the closet again…_

_Oh my gosh though, what would we even do in there? We can’t--we shouldn’t do too much! What do you even do with a girl? What’s okay!?! WHAT EVEN_ IS _A VAGINA_!?

Adrien was concerned. He wanted to be suave and sexy for Marinette, though he was pretty sure he richly failed to do that at every opportunity. Every part of him wanted to make sure that she knew _exactly_ how interested he was in her, but he was _sorely_ lacking in social graces and experience. If he got Marinette alone, what would he even do? When he’d invited her back to his place on Thursday, it had been entirely spur-of-the-moment. If he’d gotten Marinette back to his room, then…

_What would we have done? Would it have been weird? Would we have d-done the s-s-s-sex?_

...Sacre merde _, I’m even stuttering in my internal monologue now._

Whatever they would have done, Adrien felt unprepared for it. Even his relatively thorough internet search history hadn’t given him a good idea of what actually _doing the deed_ would be like-- _any_ deed. His experience was entirely limited to Marinette, and entirely to the Storming of the Bastille and a few brief trips to the Reign of Terror. If he suddenly arrived at a no-clothes on Second Directory--or Constitution of 1795, or the Battle of the Nile, whatever that would be--he had no idea what to expect, or what to _do_.

There was only one answer. One person he could talk to for a thorough, meaningful discussion of sexuality. _Particularly_ as it applied to Marinette.

Alya.

He was about to make his excuses to Nino and go find her when the saucy young lady in question arrived with Marinette in tow. She swooped upon Nino and pushed him off with Marinette with a whispered “Go learn, my little ducklings,” not even noticing Adrien.

Since Marinette was apparently being distracted by Nino, Adrien pounced on the opportunity to snag Alya. It simply wouldn’t do to ask for fingerbanging tips in front of the young lady to be fingerbanged; how embarrassing! With Marinette a ways off (unfortunate as that was--Adrien could still feel her lips on him), he had enough privacy to ask a somewhat delicate question.

“Saaaaaaaay, Alya,” he said, shooting finger guns at her. “Boy do I have a question for you.”

Alya was paying half-attention, more interested for the moment in Marinette and Nino sharing a blush and looking back at her. She gave them a thumbs-up and a sly, toothy smile, then turned to Adrien. “What can I do for you, daffodil?”

“Uh, so,” started Adrien, confidently. “I kinda think Marinette and I might be… um… intimate. Later on.”

“Oh really? Do go _on_ , Mr. Agreste.” Her voice indicated an incredible lack of surprise.

 _Wow I wonder how she knows_ , he thought. _Wait, “Mr. Agreste”?_

“Ew don’t call me that. But yeah, we, uh. May have been sneaking off earlier… I don’t know if you noticed.”

“I had no idea!” Alya lied. “You were being so subtle!”

“Thanks, we were trying to be sneaky. But… Alya, okay this is kind of personal…”

She leaned in close to hear.

“I don’t… really know what I’m doing. For… s-sex stuff. And I-I was hoping you could…” His hand was cemented to the back of his neck. “M-maybe tell me how to do it right. W-with hands first, I guess. Like my confession. I’ve never f-fingered. I thought you’d know and could, uh… help. If--if that’s okay.”

Alya crossed her arms and leaned back, a considering look playing across her face. Adrien twitched slightly and rocked foot to foot under her gaze. After a few moments, she burst out with a short splash of laughter.

“Boyo, you are never going to believe the conversation I just had with Marinette. Come on, let’s go find a corner or something. But first we gotta stop by the snack table.”

“What?”

* * *

“So Alya finally sent you to me, did she?” Nino had withdrawn with Marinette to a corner of Adrien's immense room. He laced his fingers and stretched his arms, palms forward, limbering up his hands.

“Uh, yeah.” Marinette didn’t quite know how to begin this conversation. How did you ask your friend to help you figure out how to jerk off _his_ friend? “Nino? Why did Alya give me this pastry?”

“Take a close look, bro," he said with a smile. "Remind you of anything?”

* * *

“Okay marigold, here’s how this is going to go down,” started Alya. She wiggled her fingers at Adrien, focusing his attention.

“Alya, I’m confused,” said Adrien, still unfocused. “Why do I need a pastry for this?”

“Use your imagination, squirt. I ate off all of the blueberries but one, at the top. Now--does that pastry remind you of any… body parts?”

* * *

On opposite sides of the room, Marinette and Adrien both came to a realization at the same time. Their faces reddened, and they re-examined the pastries that Alya had pressed upon them. The suggestive nature of each pastry--and their instructor’s plans--slowly dawned on them.

Marinette gazed at the treat in her hand. Adrien gazed at his.

A long, slender, cream-filled eclair.

And an oval danish with a single blueberry nestled between the folds of the dough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: hchano informed me of the PERFECT playlist for one part of this chapter. Please do enjoy: http://youtu.be/07P538K83iU
> 
> \----
> 
> The pastries I'm thinking of:
> 
> http://www.bakepedia.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/08/eclair-inside-of-eclair.jpg  
> (but imagine a yet more phallic eclair)
> 
> https://photo2.foodgawker.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/1918031.jpg  
> (but imagine a yet more vaginal danish)
> 
> This chapter marks the end (for this party at least) of Never Have I Ever! We will be moving on to other games. And oh, the party is not nearly over yet.


	24. In Which Alya And Nino Are The Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alya and Nino dispense some valuable advice about... pastries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes fairly detailed discussions of sexual techniques. It also shows a great deal of disrespect to pastries.

_On opposite sides of the room, Marinette and Adrien both came to a realization at the same time. Their faces reddened, and they re-examined the pastries that Alya had pressed upon them. The suggestive nature of each pastry--and their instructor’s plans--slowly dawned on them._

_Marinette gazed at the treat in her hand. Adrien gazed at his._

_A long, slender, cream-filled eclair. And an oval danish with a single blueberry nestled between the folds of the dough._

 

* * *

 

Marinette stared at the suddenly, startlingly phallic pastry in her hand, almost recoiling from it. Nino crossed his arms, allowing her to come to terms with the fact that she was holding--that her parents had _baked_ \--what was about to become a _penile effigy_ . A hard-on stand-in. An Adrien’s cock crash test dummy. And worst, it was _cream filled_.

_Of course, given what he did to my ceiling and pajama pants, the consistency is about right…_

_Shut up, Wine-Me!_ thought the sober parts of Marinette’s mind, even as she kept a hungry stare on the eclair. It was a pretty good size--from what she’d inadvertently felt during brunch, it was about the right girth. Texture wasn’t right, but she had felt it through cloth. She didn’t have a complete idea of length, but-- _No! Don’t get into this! It’s weird!_

_Silence, sober brain! You need handjob lessons! Nino masturbates all the time probably! He’s an expert!_

She paused. _Well…_

_You know I’m right. I’m you, after all._

_Gosh darn it,_ thought Marinette, _that’s right. I’m going to learn how to manage a dick and Mlle. Wine will help me be able to handle that at all!_

“Okay are you psyched up enough? It looked like you were getting psyched up. I can do a pep talk if you want.” Nino had his hands up and out, nonthreatening, giving Marinette plenty of space. She was timid, like the deer. “Do you want the pep talk? Here goes. I believe in you. How’d I do?”

Marinette shook herself back to alertness, involuntarily squeezing her hands into fists, before she realized that she would be manhandling a stand-in man-handle. She looked down--her squeeze had slightly deformed the eclair and gotten some chocolate on her fingers, but she’d managed to catch herself before she’d snapped the pastry in half. _That_ would be quite the ill omen, in terms of interactions with Adrien’s love-baguette. She raised her eyes to Nino, squaring her jaw. She could _do_ this.

… She could do _Adrien._

“Okay! Okay. I’m ready! I can do this! Let’s talk about dicks!”

 

* * *

 

“Take a deep breath, Adrien, there’s no need to be scandalized, okay? It’s just a danish.”

“A danish that I’m going to be--be--”

“You’re going to finger- _foutre_ it, yeah. It’s a learning experience.”

“I-I-I-I don’t know what to think about all this! Can’t you just… tell me?”

Alya leaned forward, putting her hands on Adrien’s shoulders, steadying him. “Okay, Adrien, I’m going to be real with you. The best way to learn is through experience, and the best way to get experience is to have someone to practice _with_.”

Adrien’s pulse quickened. What was Alya suggesting?

“And while I would pretty much _love_ to get your pretty-boy fingers all up in my WiFi hotspot, I know for a FACT that Marinette wants as many of your first times for herself as possible.” She picked up his free hand, grabbed two fingers, and deposited them onto the blueberry/clit at one end of the danish. “So that’s where the pastry comes in.” To illustrate her point, she took Adrien’s fingers and gently moved them in circles around the blue bijou.

“Uh, what are you…”

“You’re probably going to be _doing_ this to Marinette later, so I’m building muscle memory.”

Adrien’s thoughts flashed to the feeling of Marinette’s skin under his, sliding his hand down her body and between her legs. Feeling with sensitive digits that same warmth he’d felt pressing into his thigh, earlier, and pressing into his _most_ intimate part when she’d toppled onto him at brunch. His imagination became suddenly _much_ more vivid than it had ever been. The folds of the danish became a very _different_ type of fold, the blueberry became a _way_ more entertaining tiny orb, and where the puff pastry split to hold the filling became enticing in a way that food is not supposed to be.

Earlier he had been skeptical of his ability to use this danish as a… learning aid. _Could I really do this? Could I take this seriously?_ Now that his mental images and Alya’s instructions were lining up, however…

“Okay. Yeah. I’m going to finger- _foutre_ this danish until I’m good enough for Marinette’s… uh…” The right words wouldn’t come. Nothing seemed appropriate. He didn’t want to be gauche, focusing on the physical entirely. Something that worked on multiple levels... “Marinette’s… needs.”

“See?” said Alya. “This is why you’re a precious golden begonia. Once I train you up and hand you off to Marinette, she’s going to be one happy little lady. Now,” she said, with a raise of the eyebrow. “Let’s get you up to speed on anatomy.”

 

* * *

 

“I feel like I should be squeezing it harder,” said Marinette. “This doesn’t feel hard enough.”

“Just goes to show you have to do some communication! You get to practice with an eclair so you don’t start off too strong.” Nino prodded the pastry, adjusting Marinette’s grip. “Remember, you can dial _up_ the intensity pretty easily. But if you start too high, it’s tough to de-escalate. Gotta build up to a crescendo, you know? Makes it _way_ better.”

“That makes sense,” she said. The buildup was familiar to her--you don’t often experience something five times a day, on average, and forget how it works. Slow start, speed up, plateau for as long as you can stand it, then finish yourself off. Masturbation 101. “Basic orgasm rules.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how much porn you look at either, but there’s some dick anatomy you gotta know about.”

“What?” asked Marinette. “It’s all pretty much the dick, right? It’s kinda long… one end is kinda bulby... “ She blushed. “I’ve been through sex ed, I basically know what a dick is!”

“Yeah but if you watch mostly American porn, those guys are all circumcised. No foreskin. European dudes all got some windsock going.”

“Wind...sock?”

“The foreskin? The bonus noodle? Extra sausage casing? Little bit that goes over the tip. Like the world’s least effective skin-condom. Knob-pouch. The yucky-looking part. You know, the foreskin.”

“Ni-NO!”

“Ni-yes.”

“Nino! Goddamn! I knew what you meant after ‘foreskin’! No need to get so… allegorical! _Foutre_ !” Marinette moved to bury her face in her hands, before realizing that doing that would jab a cream-filled dick-analogue right into her eye. She wasn’t emotionally prepared to handle _that_ idea… but it might appear in one of Nino’s later lessons. _Oh please no direct eye-on-_ saucisse _contact…_ She shot the pastry a wary look.

“I’m just keeping you hip to the jive, what the kids are saying these days. Just the other day I walked up to Adrien and I was like, ‘Hey buddy, how’s the slipcover fitting on your hot rod,’ and he was like ‘Pretty good, dude, how’s your personal sausage ramekin?’ and that’s how our day started.”

Marinette blinked. Nino was being so… _casual_ about all of this. “Do you… do you just talk about your genitals all the time, like it’s a regular thing?”

“Well yeah, kind of. Dick check-ins in the shower, basic bro stuff. Don’t girls do that, too?”

“Of course we do! I just… I figured guys just kind of assumed everything was okay! Without a status update!”

“See? You learned something already.”

Marinette stared at the groinish pastry in her hand like the force of her gaze could jerk it off for her. She came to a decision--a final, fundamental declaration to herself and to the world about _how it was gonna be_ . “I’m on a schedule here, Lahiffe. I am _going_ to feel Adrien’s porn oboe, and I am going to _play_ a _magnificent symphony_ on it, and _you_ are going to be my music tutor.” She gripped one end of the eclair lightly, flopping it at Nino’s face. “You can tell me what happens in the boy’s showers later. In fact, I am going to demand that you do. But for now--” she gave the pastry another shake, flipping some cream onto Nino’s nose “--you are going to focus on the details of how I can treat this pastry to the night of it’s life.”

Without realizing it, she had backed Nino into a corner, brandishing the turgid lingam of a pastry in his face close enough that it should probably buy Nino dinner first. They didn’t have too far to go to get to the corner, of course--having intentionally removed themselves to a more private area of Adrien’s Bat-Cave--but Marinette flailing a prick-analogue with a mind to make a point was not something to ignore. Nino raised his hands in a universal gesture of placation.

“Don’t worry, girl-bro! When we’re done, that eclair is going to invite you to meet its _foutu_ _parents_. It’s gonna knit you a sweater. It’s gonna ask you to put a lock on a bridge. Now get it away from my lips--Alya’s going to handle that lesson.”

“What?”

“What?”

 

* * *

 

“Adrien. Oh my god. Go get another danish.”

Adrien looked down. This was his fourth pastry in as many minutes. Alya was peeling the remnants of this one off of his fingers, eating the doughy leavings of his schooling. She gently extricated the puff-pastry shell from around his fingers where it had become lodged, its gooey cream cheese center perforated to the second knuckle. It was less a pastry now, and more a sticky, useless set of brass knuckles.

“I… just get so excited.”

“You’re really going to need to tone that down when you get Marinette into the closet and make an honest woman of her,” said Alya, disentangling pastry from Adrien’s digits. “Fifth pastry’s a charm. Go.”

Adrien slunk over to the pastry table, filching one of the last vaguely-yonic pastries. They were running low on pastries that could reasonably approximate a lady’s glorious crevasse; he’d better start being able to _foutu_ manage himself. He returned to Alya right as she finished licking the last of the cream cheese off of her fingers.

...It did not help his ambient level of excitement.

“Okay, let’s take it from the top, and this time, _settle_. I’m getting full.”

Adrien took a moment to feel bad about that fact that his girlfriend’s best friend was inadvertently turning him on with her pastry-eating. The moment was quickly annihilated when he glanced down at the pastry in his palm, remembered the task at hand. Despite Alya’s pastry-noshing display, Adrien’s mind was overwhelmed with fantastic images of a very different kind of _finger-lickin’ good_ . He glanced over at Marinette, who was waggling her pastry--which was apparently _his_ analogue--in Nino’s face. His blush deepened.

Alya wasn’t in a mood to help him suppress the blush, at all. She’d continued, during his distraction.

“--And the one who _should_ be getting full is _Marinette_ , sunshine.”

“Alya! No!”

“Alya yes. Don’t get excited. Just trying to acclimate you to sex-talk!” She put her hand back on his shoulder, locking eyes with him. “Okay, try some breathing exercises now. In through the nose, out through the mouth, breathe deeply. Calm your tits.”

“My tits are calm… my tits are so calm…” said Adrien, as he closed his eyes.

“That’s good, little finger- _foutrer_. Now concentrate. Use that big noggin for imagination. We’re going to pretend.”

 

* * *

 

“We’re going to pretend that Adrien doesn’t just constantly have a boner around you and--”

“Wait what!? He does?!?!”

“Marinette. Girl. Babe. How have you not noticed this. Your hand is _right there_ and meanwhile, your friendly neighborhood Nino is two seats away and I can tell he’s sporting more wood than the ecology of neolithic Europe.”

“What?”

“Deforestation, Marinette. Huge issue. But focus.” Nino adjusted the eclair in Marinette’s hand, angling it downwards at about waist-level to him. He held one end to give it a firm foundation, while Marinette cupped the other. “Okay we’re starting like this. Flaccid. Droopy. A lazy log. Your basic pre-Marinette-being-around Adrien’s shlongus.”

“O-okay, I got it,” said Marinette. “It’s A-A-A-Adrien’s… p-penis.”

“Nice! _Bien joie_ , so far, _ma belle_!” He gave her a wink. “Now close your eyes and imagine that it’s Adrien’s--”

He was cut off. As soon as Marinette’s eyes closed, the sight of Nino before her was entirely replaced by a vivid imago of her own devising--a glorious nude Adrien, his manhood dangling ponderously into her palm. The mental picture of her flawless boyfriend completely _au naturale_ sent a rush all through Marinette’s body--some parts in particular--and caught her breath in her throat. Imagining Adrien’s bare beef in her palm proved too much for her, and in the split second between closing her eyes and her imagination taking over, Marinette became far too excited.

Her hand clenched unintentionally, knuckles white around the ruined remains of her half of the eclair. Apparently, when confronted with Adrien’s veiny obelisk, some desensitization training was in order. Realizing what she’d done, her eyes snapped back open.

“--uh,” said Nino, aborting his initial train of thought. He had been cut off in the middle of narrating the mental exercise, but a burst of eclair cream that blasted up across his entire chest and neck. “Impressive grip strength, but you really should start out more gentle, dude.” With his free hand, he scooped up a dollop of the custard and popped it into his mouth. “Though in terms of volume and consistency, if what Alya told me is true, this is a pretty good approximation of his--”

Another involuntary clutch from Marinette, and more gooey cream spurted onto Nino--all the way to his face this time. He licked some off with his lips. “Okay, that was my bad. I guess Adrien’s not the only one with a hair trigger in this scenario, huh, girl?” He began to de-cream himself.

“Oh my gosh Nino, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to spray you with… uh…” She looked down to her hands. The eclair--previously a pristine component of her parents’ display--had become a crushed and massacred husk of its former self, every drop of filling squeezed out to decorate Nino’s clothing. “With… Adrie _noixx_. S-sorry…”

“Well congratulations you just squeezed his pepper into harissa. Go get another eclair, let’s try this again.”

She scampered off, red-faced, to the snack table, filching another approximately Adrien-sized pastry dingus. Nino munched on the dessicated eclair remains, trying to figure out his strategy. Even just carrying a dick-metaphor back to their corner, Marinette was blushing like she was in the final trial of the Blushlympics.

“H-here you go. Sorry…”

“Ain’t no thing, Marinette. We’re gonna get you tugging on our boy one way or another.”

He potentially should have phrased that differently. Marinette had evolved from blushing a powerful vermillion to lightly venting steam, and her eyes had become _very_ large, with _very_ small irises.

“Sorry, dude! Sorry! We’ll take it slow okay? Just think about every step, and maybe don’t think about Adrien. Just like, a placeholder dick. Generic pepper. Okay?”

“O-okay.”

Nino shook his head, returning to eclair-holding position as Marinette scrunched up her eyes and reached out for the pastry. He was going to have to get all Socratic Method on this situation. “We’re gonna try this again. Now, what have we learned?”

 

* * *

 

“Now, what have we learned so far?” Alya’s voice was soft and soothing in his ear. She took the pastry from him, as she had the previous four times. Her other hand shaped his fingers--for the moment, the index and middle fingers extended, soft, not tensed.

“Be gentle at first… build up over time… listen to her... “

“Good, good, my young apprentice. Now what do you make sure of?”

Adrien thought. It was hard to remember anything specific when the topic at hand was Marinette’s intimate garden; even thinking about her sensual love-pavilion distracted him from whatever he was supposed to be thinking about. _How can I even focus on details when my mind is besieged by my imagination’s images of Marinette’s glorious passion sanctuary? How can I remember how to do thing right when her pristine romance chamber is--_

“Adrien! Stop getting distracted with romantic terms for Marinette’s body parts!”

His eyes snapped open, embarrassed--for a slightly different reason this time. “Sorry! Sorry! It’s just… it’s hard!”

 

* * *

 

“It’s hard! You did good!” Marinette could hear Nino’s nod in his voice. “Your reactions were totally under control! Totally intact chili right here!”

Marinette was biting her lip, trying with desperate focus not to over-squeeze the eclair. Nino had coached her through some basic, slow, soft stroking, and was now angling the pastry upwards. It was still at about hip level, but now afforded a different grip--more holding a joystick than giving a handshake. It felt more natural--like it was Marinette’s default handjob position. _Maybe everyone has a preferred handjob orientation? Maybe!_ She snapped herself out of her thoughts on comparing manual stimulation techniques between different people--Nino was going into some more detail about penises. She needed to focus on her _own_ cock-interaction strategy right now.

“Now that it’s hard you can pull back the foreskin--the windsock we talked about.”

“Nino!”

“Just trying to jog your memory, dude! It worked, didn’t it?”

“...Yes,” she admitted, glumly. Or as glumly as possible while she was imaging Adrien’s pink rolling pin. “Now what do I do?”

“So there’s not a real good way to fake this on an eclair,” said Nino. “But you gotta sort of gently slide the skin on the tip back. Take your other hand and--”

But he was too late.

Marinette had lost the battle against her own eagerness, and had gone ahead without Nino’s guidance. In attempting to slide back the imaginary foreskin, she had inadvertently slid her left index finger into the eclair’s cream-filled divot, and was now probing its custardy innards. How had that even happened? _What did I do to make that be the case_?

“Damn girl, that’s an advanced technique, to say the goddamn least. I was thinking you’d maybe brush some of the chocolate back or something.” Nino stared with wide eyes at the defiled pastry.

It was a little much for Marinette. Her grip had shifted to the base of the pastry--closer to where Nino was holding it erect--and her finger was checking the oil on the pastry’s cream-laden faux-urethra. She panicked, squeezing the base of the treat, which was now pointed at her. And which was being plugged partially by her finger.

Eclair cream is incompressible, so when Marinette squeezed the pastry, it chose the path of least resistance--the hole in the end of the pastry. Marinette’s finger restricted the space, forcing out it out in a thinner, faster, more powerful stream. Cream sprayed aggressively out of the end of the pastry, splattering Marinette’s neck and chin and lips; a dollop even landed on her eyebrow.

She blinked, unable to believe she’d wrecked another baked good. Nino joined her--startled blinks trying to make sense of the situation.

“Whoa… um… that brings up another topic we’re gonna have to discuss later…” He cleared his throat and took the thoroughly-wrung pastry from Marinette’s hand. “Go clean yourself up a little, babe, and get another pastry. We can maybe skip the foreskin bit.”

Marinette followed his recommendations in a daze, blinking as she dabbed pastry- _noixx_ off of herself and fetched another eclair.

On the other side of the room, Nino was pondering his next lesson, wondering how Alya was faring with her pupil, and analyzing what he knew of Marinette’s progress so far. _Well, she’s not ideal in terms of impulse control,_ he thought. _But she ain’t lacking in grip strength, at least. She’s got a ways to go--dicks ain’t as easy to wrangle as people think._ He sighed to himself. It was always rough teaching skills to a total novice. The learning curve for intimate moments could be _very_ steep. _As long as I can give her the basics, I can let Marinette worry about how hard it is._

 

* * *

 

“Let _Marinette_ worry about how _hard_ it is, centerfold. I need you to focus on the now. Close your eyes.”

Adrien  closed his eyes, shutting out Alya as she posed, holding the danish at slightly below hip-level in front of herself. He felt her hand adjust his fingers and rotate his palm so it faced outward.

“Okay. You’re in a romance moment. Marinette is all like ‘Touch me Adrien, I definitely want this to happen, I need your hot body,” basic Marinette stuff. What do you make sure of?”

“Wait--she says that?”

“I mean…” said Alya, who had heard Marinette whisper those very words to herself many times in her sleep. “Uh… maybe?”

“But so it means she wants me to touch her, right? Th-that she really wants me to?”

“Yeah! Yep! Definitely! Okay, good, so we know she wants you to. What then?”

“I--I go slow at first.”

“Whoa there, snapdragon, you can _go slow_ after you _start_ . So how do you _start_? What do you check?”

_Right, right, I know this. Before your finger grazes the least bit of her perfect lady-lips, what do you--Of course!_

“M-make sure my fingers aren’t dry! No dry fingers on a bijou!”

“Very good! Very good, Adrien! See? Just focus on the moment. Gotta make feel good, right? And a surprise arid fingerprint on the fun-pearl is the last thing you want.” She grabbed his fingers, waggling them in her grip. “So what do you do?”

“Get lube!”

“Right! So go on.”

Adrien lifted his fingers to his mouth, withdrawing them from Alya’s hand and giving the pad of his first two fingers a lick. He thought he heard a soft “nice” from his mentor, but that was probably just his mind playing tricks. “Wh-what now?”

“Okay,” said Alya. The sounds of Ultimate Mecha Strike and a live narration of shoujo manga concealed their topic of conversation from prying ears. “You’ve got a little lube, you’ve got a partner who really definitely wants you, so what’s next?”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve got a partner who really definitely wants you, so what’s next? You got the pepper up, you got the windsock back, what’s your next move, Dupain-Cheng?”

“I… start stroking it?” Marinette looked down quizzically at the pastry in her hand. She was pretty much sure that’s how it should go at this point…

“Nuh uh uh, Marinette, gotta get something a little slick going on. The end of a dude’s romance clarinet is pretty much like a giant, half-assed bijou. Don’t be sandpapering it with your raspy thumbprints, is what I’m saying.”

“Vivid,” said Marinette. “But, what do I use?”

“All sorts of stuff! If you got butter, use butter. Lube is good. Lotion, if you don’t plan to put it in your mouth right afterwards--some of us learn that lesson the hard way.” Nino looked into the middle distance, shuddering. “Alya wasn’t pleased. But yeah, just anything slippery. Especially at the muffin-tip.”

“Okay, got it. Get some slick business on the love tuber.”

“Now you’re getting it! And solid euphemisms, too.”

“Thanks!” she replied, while internally she was pondering what to use. “I guess while I’m here… I’ve got saliva I could use.”

“Classic choice.”

“And some of this custard that’s leaking out.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely some parallels you’re gonna notice in the heat of the moment, man. Go wild.” Nino held the eclair steady with one hand, and readjusted his pants with the other. Teaching Marinette how to properly provide tiny hugs for a dude’s anaconda was having some unexpected consequences…

Well, Nino sporting a front-facing flagpole wasn’t _unexpected,_ really. Just embarrassing. He was trying to get her all trained up to give a handie to his best friend, after all! Don’t want to pre-empt your bro’s first handie. If someone’s intent on manhandling a specific manhandle, the gentlemanly thing to do is help them out _before_ you investigate whether they’ve got any interest in third-party dinguses. _Hold up, Nino, bro. Focus on the project_.

Marinette was gathering some custard onto her fingers and smearing it along the length of the pastry.

“Yeah, use one hand to do stuff to the head! And do stroking stuff with your other one. Double dragon style.”

“Stuff to the head? Like what?”

“It’s gonna be a little different for everyone, dude,” said Nino, shrugging. “Pretty much, play around with it and whenever he makes a good sound, keep doing that some more. It’s gonna be a learning experience.”

“So… listen for sounds?”

“Yeah stuff like gasps and moans and when he sort of loses control of the farther-away parts of his body. It’s the best.”

Marinette was breathing more heavily now. “That… sounds good.”

“Hell yeah, girl! You’re gonna find out! Just remember, the limb-thrashing and sexy-sounds that Adrien’s doing are gonna be the best teacher in the moment.”

 

* * *

 

The best teacher, in the moment, Adrien remembered, would be ol’ Five-Times-Daily Marinette herself. If anyone knows where to put fingers on Marinette’s body, it would _definitely_ be Marinette.. “Oh! Uh--ask her to put my fingers where she wants them.”

“Excellent! You remembered this time! You’re doing great, kiddo. Marinette’s going to be a lucky girl.” Adrien smiled--he was getting this! He might not be a natural, but at least he took instruction well. “So, what do you say?”

“‘P-put my hand where you want me, Marinette.’”

“Perfect! Okay, and now she says this: ‘Right here.’ Imagine more stuttering.” Alya took his hand back in hers, turning his palm towards her, and gently placing his two fingers at the top of the pastry. Near the blueberry _bijou,_ but not on top of it. “Now what?”

“Now I say, ‘P-please move my fingers like you like it,’ right?”

“That’s right!” said Alya. She began to move his fingers in gentle, small circles around the bijou-area of the danish. Every few rotations, she would move his fingers around the border of the danish, gliding over the pastry and just barely touching the creamy center. “I hate to break it to you, loverboy, but there’s no way you’re gonna be better at this than Marinette herself is. That girl gets _way_ too much practice. What’s good is that it’s _you_ doing it.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, boy! It may not _feel_ better, but it is _way_ more fun with someone else, usually!” Alya gave him a conspiratorial wink. “You’ll find out. Keep your heartrate down, just move like she wants you to.”

“Okay, got it.” Adrien kept up a steady pattern of breathing, desperately focusing on keeping steady on each inhale and exhale, and on the rhythm of his fingers on the pastry. Little circles, nice and soft. He felt Alya press his fingers into the pastry slightly more firmly, slightly more focused.

“You have to stay away from the really sensitive bits at first,” she said. “Make sure she’s totally ready and totally turned on and into it, okay? Don’t just start with direct stuff on the clit. Pretty much no girls ever want you BAM right on the clit from the get-go. It’s really too much. Just listen to her, ask what she likes.”

“Okay, okay.” He kept trying to memorize every word Alya said and every motion she was guiding his fingers through. Soft, gentle, building up over time. Following her lead. He could do this.

“ _Bien joie_ , cupcake! You’re doing great! You’re ready for the next level. Keep going.” She removed her hand from Adrien’s fingers, leaving him stranded. “Just keep that up! Keep going like that!”

“B-but…” _Can I do this without her hand guiding me? Oh no!_

“Just keep that pace, until I tell you to go harder!”

Adrien furrowed his brow, eyes still closed, Leaning Tower of Pisa leaning a little bit less. _Focus. Focus. Focus_ , he kept repeating to himself. _This is Marinette’s quivering sanctuary we’re pleasing here._

“Nice going, Adrien. Good pace, steady rhythm. She’s getting into it! Alright now she’s all like ‘Go a little harder Adrien, right at the top,’ what do you do?”

“I--I do that? I go a little harder around the _bijou_ area?”

“ _Exactement_! Pick up the pace a little.”

Always able to take direction, Adrien did as she asked. With the pastry in her hand, he slid the pads of his fingers up and down the length of the pastry, tracing the folds of dough and teasing along the crest of the bijou-zone. _This is Marinette’s velveteen sanctuary_ , he thought. _I have to treat it really well, as well as possible!_ He furrowed his brow, his mediocre willpower doing its best to hold him back from slamming as much of his hand as possible into the hapless pastry. _But I wanna doooooo stuff to itttttt_ , his subconscious whined. _Marinette’s so great and looks so sexy-y-y-y-y…_ Even though he was thinking to himself, he could feel the whining drone trail off. He wasn’t even sure what parts of his consciousness were Wine-Adrien and what were Adrien-Adrien anymore; there was only Horny-Adrien and Trying-To-Be-A-Gentleman-Adrien, and from what he could tell _both_ were part of his wine- and regular-selves. _Well… that’s good at least_ …?

And, luckily, his internal dialogue was distracting him from his internal fantasies of fingerblasting Marinette at more advanced levels. Alya was gently prompting him, letting him know that he was doing good, that he could even go a little harder.

“Okay Adrien, switch it up and slide your finger up and down the cream cheese center. That’s where fingers go--like you did earlier, but _way_ slower and _way_ more responsible about it.” Adrien blushed--even more--at the memory of losing control and fingering the first three pastries into crumbs. Definitely not an option for Marinette’s _actual_ delectable pastry. Alya continued: “Whenever you’re ready. Marinette’s saying ‘blah blah Adrien, put your finger in me, blah stutter stutter.’”

Not trusting his voice--a situation he found himself in all too often--Adrien nodded and  did as she asked, focusing his fingers more into the central slit of the danish. _Okay, fingers on the v-v-vagina_ , he thought to himself, noticing that he was stuttering in his own mind again. _Totally have this under control. I’m not overwhelmed by how s-sexy Marinette’s body is…_

To prove it to himself, he bit his lip, extracting a sharp curl of pain to focus his mind on danish-Marinette’s needs, rather than his own desires. He took his left hand and grabbed his right wrist, holding himself back. Just in case.

“Okay! You’re doing great!” Alya sounded like she was smiling, and Adrien could almost see her nodding along to his motions. “She’s gonna love this. Are you ready to go to the next level?”

 

* * *

 

“Are you ready to go to the next level?”

 _With Adrien? Immediately,_ thought Marinette. _Oh wait…_

“Yes! Yeah. What’s next?” Marinette replied to Nino, keeping up the same pattern of stroking and knob-polishing she’d been practicing on the eclair. Years of frequent bijou-work had kept her forearm and wrist stamina in tip-top condition. She was doing pretty good at handjobbing this pastry, she thought. _Looks like all that self-service was more of an investment than I thought..._

Nino reached behind himself for something. “Well…”

 

* * *

 

“Well…” began Adrien, unsure what “the next level” might be. Then his nether-brain took over. “Yes, definitely.”

“Then it’s roleplaying time. Marinette’s all like ‘Adrien! I need your body! Gimme that dick, boy! Slam it into me! Fuck my pussy, destroy my ass, do whatever you want!’ What do you do?”

Adrien felt himself blushing--even behind closed eyelids, he felt like he could see the red glow of his cheeks. Alya was getting _quite_ graphic.

...But he found himself imagining Marinette saying all of those things with _startling_ ease.

His pants were suddenly much more snug around the hip area. The reaction wasn’t helping him think. What do you _do_ when faced with a girl making such demands? He had no idea.

“Uh--we have sex? Like she said?”

“You’re not ready yet! It’s just the heat of the moment!” She was talking faster now, rocking the pastry-pussy back and forth, into each stroke of his fingers. The pressure was on. “It’s dirty talk! Keep fingering! Talk dirty back!”

Adrien had never really talked _dirty_ before. Even when he and Marinette had had their… _encounter_ in her bed, with her pajama bottoms, he’d mostly been looking and breathing and panting and touching--not _talking_.

 _Okay, Agreste, Nino’s got some moves_ , he thought to himself, pondering the sexiest of his friends who was also a dude, which he also was. _Foutre_ , he thought. _Can’t even keep my internal monologue sensical. Okay focus.If you were Nino, what would you say?_

“Uh… I love how you feel…” _Okay, pretty good_.

“Dirtier! This is Marinette we’re talking about, here!”

Oh, wow. What did Alya know about Marinette that Adrien didn’t?

(Yes)

Well, he didn’t have it in himself to question Alya’s expertise, so he tried to imagine what he thought pornography might be like.

“I… I’m going to… do sex to you,” he said, meekly.

“Louder! Nastier!”

“Y-yeah you l-l-like that don’t you?”

“Good! Be a freak!” The pastry was rocking harder now; Adrien picked up the pace with his fingers.

“I-I’m going to g-give you my cock?”

“It’s not a question! Go wild!”

“I’m gonna put stuff in your butt and get you to put stuff in mine because I hear it’s great!”

“Yeah!”

“I’m gonna do you all night!”

“Yeah!”

“We’re gonna _fuck_!”

“NICE!”

In the distance, Rose shouted “Language!”, but Adrien was distracted by a jet of fluid splashing across his face. Startled, he opened his eyes, right as Alya blasted him again with a squirt bottle. The surprise slowed his fingering-pace.

“RED ALERT, Agreste! She’s a squirter! What do you do!? She’s gonna get ya!” To punctuate her statement, she blasted him again across the face and neck with the bottle. “ _What do you do?_ ”

 

* * *

 

“What do you do, Marinette? Cum, everywhere! It’s unavoidable! The boy is a fountain!”

From behind his back, Nino had produced a pastry piping bag filled with creme fraiche. As Marinette shrieked, he started blasting delicious globs of goo at her. She dropped the pastry, backing up as Nino sprayed Adrien-sauce hither and thither.

“Nino! Fuck!”

“Language!” said Rose, who hadn’t heard Marinette’s shriek, but apparently heard her English profanity.

“Moment ruined, Marinette! You gotta hone your reactions,” said Nino, putting away the piping bag. “Gotta dodge! Gotta juke! Get out the way of the _noixx_ -rain!”

“Nino, if I wasn’t learning this to _thoroughly_ rock Adrien’s world _,_ I would throw you into the Seine. You do _not_ surprise someone with cum!”

Nino raised his hands in defeat. “I know, dude! I swear I know! This was Alya’s idea.” He blushed, and rubbed the back of his neck--clearly he’d been spending plenty of time with Adrien. “It’s totally not cool to surprise someone with cum, but…”

“But what? This better be a really good caveat, Lahiffe.”

“But… with an inexperienced dude like Adrien? I mean, it can sometimes _get the jump on you_ , you know what I’m sayin’? The O-face can pop up real sudden. He might not give you enough time to intercept, you hear me?”

“What do you--oh…” Marinette furrowed her brow. “You think he wouldn’t be able to… hold back?”

“Dudes can be a hair trigger, man,” said Nino. “Trust me on this. My first time with Alya wasn’t exactly… a marathon. If you get me.”

“I _got you_ all over my _shirt_ and my _leggings_ , Nino.” Marinette tried to wipe off some of the creme from her shirt. She was not very successful.

“Look I raised that very question to Alya,” said Nino, hands up and shrugging. “But on the plus side, I hear there’s a good bathtub you could use if you really needed to…”

“Nin--oh….” She interrupted her outburst of Nino’s name to give it some careful consideration. “The bathtub, you say…”

“Just a possibility, babe!” Nino gave her a wink. “Get a new pastry and we’ll take this from the top. And think about that bathtub, right? What a great place to get wet and wild…”

 

* * *

 

“Wet and wild, Agreste! That’s your life now! Constant squirtings!”

Adrien shook himself, widening his stance to keep his balance and center his thoughts against the intrusive squirts--Alya was cackling and keeping up a pretty good hurricane on his face and nearby areas. The idea of Mariette uncontrollably gushing onto him was…. _No. Better not think of how how that is right now. Need to keep going_ . He returned the pace of his digital ministrations to its former speed, even increasing the intensity. _If she’s doing lady-blasts into my face,_ he figured _, then I must be doing something right_.

“Good instincts, petunia! Keep it up! She’s going all Great Wave off Kanagawa on you! Keep going! Harder!”

 

* * *

 

“Keep going! Harder!” said Nino. Marinette was jerking her pastry peen with careful, deliberate strokes--hard was conceptually relevant, of course, but this was just a pastry. Hardness was relative. All in all, it was a good training tool--she couldn’t ever go too rough, or she would entirely rip the pastry apart. In person, it would be much easier to ramp things up, per Adrien’s likes, without mangling his entire eclair.

She hoped.

“Oh no!” said Nino, interrupting her rhythm. “He’s coming too early! It’s going to get everywhere! What do you?”

“DODGE!”

“That’s right!” From behind his back, Nino produced the piping bag again. Marinette was ready this time. Each splurt whizzed by her head or her hips as she nimbly twisted out of the way, all the while maintaining her strokes on the p’eclair.

“Nice moves, dude!” said Nino. “But uh oh! Now there’s an earthquake!” He started to shake the pastry, attempting to dislodge Marinette’s grip. “What do you do!?”

 

* * *

 

“What do you do, Adrien? There’s people watching! Seventy people are watching you finger Marinette! Get in the zone!”

“Is she into it?”

“Hell yeah she’s into it!”

“Then I keep going!”

 

* * *

 

“He does a roll to the side!”

“I roll too!”

“Watch out! Incoming gunfire!”

“What!? Nino, what the fuck?”

“Language!” said Rose.

“Situational awareness, Marinette! You never know what’s gonna happen mid-handjob!”

 

* * *

 

“Think fast!”

A loud retort popped into Adrien’s consciousness, and he opened his eyes to a shower of confetti and slender crepe-paper streamers. A small puff of smoke tickled his nose. Alya was holding a tiny plastic wine bottle in her left hand, bottom pointed towards Adrien. She gripped a little string in her teeth, connected to the bottle’s neck.

“A party popper, Alya? Seriously?” His fingering pace didn’t slacken--he was knuckles-deep into the cream cheese now. “What the _foutre_ is that supposed to represent?”

“CHAOS!” Alya cackled. “Love is anarchy! Now curl your fingers to the front, that’s the sweet spot.”

 

* * *

 

Marinette and Adrien went back and forth with Nino and Alya, respectively, their tutors peppering them with increasingly unexpected tribulations mid-mutual-masturbation practice. Marinette successfully kept her focus through Nino making “bwee-woo, bwee-woo” ambulance noises; Adrien maintained his rational, moderate fingering pace as Alya smacked him with a pillow. Marinette endured Nino prodding her in ribs with a fencing foil he’d found, in case her handjobbing was interrupted by a duel. Adrien kept up his pace and didn’t get overexcited when Alya lifted up her top and jiggled herself at him. Eventually--having gone through many pastries--they passed every test set before them, keeping up an entirely appropriate rate of The Second Directory.

Adrien endured nipple twists (“Marinette likes it spicy!”); Marinette persevered past Nino tugging her pigtails (“Adrien’s kinkier than we thought!”)--with surprising ease and eagerness. Neither of them let their mentor’s tickles distract them. Neither of them were dismayed by being sprayed mid-handie by various fluids. Neither of them paled at even the most _vulgar_ and _English_ of dirty talk.

They were ready.

 

* * *

 

“Okay, children, what did we learn today?”

Alya had gathered Nino and their erstwhile pupils onto Adrien’s bed, while the rest of the party blundered about in a maelstrom of video game and anime hoots and hollers. Marinette was wrinkling her nose at the creme fraiche that dotted her clothing, trying to drip as little as possible onto Adrien’s bed, while Adrien himself had produced a towel and was gently dripping a facefull of water onto it, plip by plop. _What was Alya doing to him over there?_ thought Marinette. _And is that… confetti on his nose?_

“Uh… I guess we learned to be prepared?” said Adrien, answering Alya’s question. The concept of “being prepared” was clearly be stretched to its limits, given what they had endured. Is this just what handjobs were like? She wasn’t confident that too many initial trips to the Directory ever involved grounding out lightning bolts with conductive rods. Their teaching methods… raised questions. To say the least.

“ _Absolutement_ , my little dacquoise. Knowing what you’re going to be encountering is crucial to a smooth first handjob. Hence: our various trials for you.” She looked at Marinette, noticing a startling amount of creamy white goop on her person, and custard under her nails. “Nino, you appear to have done admirably.”

“Merci!”

“You’ve earned that reward. Wink. So, Marinette--any questions? How did it go?”

Marinette tried to sort out what had just happened, and how to compile it into a report for this debriefing. Although, debriefing should in fact be what happened right before she put her newly learned skills to work…

 _Wow, Marinette, is that Mlle. Wine talking? That pun was almost as bad as Chat_.

“Well… I don’t know how much I can add to this debriefing--”

Adrien giggled. “I thought we were learning about the stuff that happened _after_ the debriefing.”

 _Sacre foutu merde, it’s a good thing you’re a beautiful golden idol, Adrien. If I didn’t want to get_ extremely _familiar with your briefs, I would be_ pinching you so hard _._

Instead of saying any of that, she realized that she snorted gently, in a laughter way. Her eyes widened briefly in surprise at her own mirthful reaction, but she squashed the expression. She had a question. Nino was high-fiving Adrien for his pun ( _MY pun_ , thought Marinette) when she finally asked it.

“So--why did you cover so many… surprises, I guess? Nino made me dodge a bunch of stuff.” She wiped a bit of custard off of her boob. “Is--was this what your first time giving a… hand… time… to each other was like?”

“What? Oh dude not at all,” said Nino. “It was totally chill.”

“... _WHAT,_ ” asked Marinette and Adrien, simultaneously.

“Come on, bros, you know you’re a disaster. Gotta plan for Murphy’s Law and all. Our first The Directory was, like, nowhere near as traumatic as yours will probably be,” said Nino.

“Yeah we were just cuddling on the couch at my place, making out.” Alya reached over to squeeze Nino’s thigh.

“Then she started sliding her hand down south on me,” continued Nino, as Alya demonstrated. “And took my hand and moved it lower. It was really hot, actually.”

“Yeah, Nino’s got some moves. Put a little music on--”

“Daft Punk?” asked Marinette.

“But of course,” said the robophile.

“--And he’d been treating the ladies _very_ well,” continued Alya, indicating her _tetons_. “At that point I knew he was a pretty good guy, so I figured we both deserved a little treat.”

Adrien and Marinette both wore an expression of sublime and perfect perplexity. It had started with the completely normal fingering scenario Nino had described, and accelerated with every new revelation of regularness. Pupils shrunk, eyes wide, brow furrowed, jaw slack. After the thirty six chambers of sexual Shaolin they’d been through, both of the thunderstruck teens had figured that Alya and Nino must have had some sort of cosmically destructive first-time finger- _foutre_ . And yet, here they were, describing a perfectly… _banal_ scenario.

“Nino had gotten some flowers for me, and we’d just gone to the zoo…”

“Yeah! We reminisced at the panther cage.”

“Our first date! You remember, right?”

Oh, both Marinette and Adrien _definitely_ remembered. It was hard to forget locking your friends in a large cat exhibit, fighting a tyrannosaurus rex, and letting Kim into a respectable dining establishment.

“I can’t _believe_ Ladybug hooked me and Nino up,” continued Alya. “She chunked us into the panther cage like it wasn’t even a thing. I was so pissed off at first.”

“It was pretty cute. Matter of fact, once we were inside--”

“Silence your damn mouth, Nino.”

Nino stuck out his tongue and poked Alya in the kidney. Alya squeaked and jabbed an elbow into his ribs, following it up with a twist of the nipple. He kept talking to his still-shell-shocked friends as Alya tormented him with an increasingly purple nurple.

“Yeah it was--aaa!--kind of awkward and--HEY!--I was trying to make conversation and sheeeEEEEE!! Aaah! SHe was like ‘Well I’ve never been a zooooOOOooh hoo hoo hooooooOOO exhibit before so that’s cool,’ And iiiIIIEEEEkk I was like, ‘Well I’ve never made ooOOUUuuuUUTTT in a panther cage before soOOOOO--”

“ _Don’t you tell them--”_ said Alya. But Nino would not be stopped.

“--So weEEE--HEY quit it--we started comparing plaaAAA-aa-aa--ooww--aces around Paris we’d kissed and--”

“ _Dammit_ Nino!” Alya was having little luck dissuading Nino with physical torment.

...Potentially fun fact about Nino, there.

“--And we decided, ‘Hey’--hey! ow!--’Hey, you know, when will we ever haaa-ahaa-have a chance like this again’ and _Robert_ ’s your _oncle_.”

Alya at this point had both of her hands up under Nino’s shirt and was completely wrecking his nipples, to little effect, as she chewed on his arm. She’d swept one leg up around his neck in an attempt to choke off his words, but he had succeeded in blocking it with an arm, to keep speaking. And all the while, Marinette and Adrien looked on, immobile, stunned.

A single thought, unified their minds:

That _was how they started their relationship_?

In addition to their earlier question:

 _Why the_ foutre _did they torture us with handjob tragedy scenarios!?_

“ _Sacre foutu merde_ , Nino, now I don’t have a secret, mysterious relationship origin story! They know now!” She had released his arm from her jaws to berate him, and was withdrawing the rest of her body from its entanglement around him. “I won’t have any power if I don’t have my aura of mystery!”

“Uh hold on,” said Marinette, the first to recover. “Back up. How did… what happened with… what happened with your first Directory experience?!” It hadn’t sunk in. She needed the information repeated.

Nino was pressing his and Alya’s drinks to his tortured nips to soothe them, and Alya was adjusting her shirt, which has come askew as she grappled Nino. Both of them looked at Marinette, lightly perplexed.

“Well… we just kinda had the house to ourselves. There were some tunes on, we were cuddling…” said Alya

“You put my hand down your pants…” added Nino.

“I think we got a towel first? Just in case. Don’t want to turn the couch into Marinette’s pain au chocolat, after all.”

“I lit some candles while she was getting the towel. And I’d kept a bunch of rose petals in my pocket all night, just in case, so I definitely scattered the _merde_ out of those things all over the place.”

“It was pretty impressive, honestly.”

“Thanks, dude!”

“Yeah and then we made out and sort of slid our pants off--”

“Oh wait, there was a blanket. Definitely needed a blanket.”

“Oh yeah we were under the blanket. It was kinda cold, plus maybe Mama Cesaire was going to come by unexpectedly, you never know.”

“And then we just kinda… were naked under a blanket, mostly. With hands all doing stuff. Kinda saw what felt good, I guess.”

“I tried to do a lot of listening to how Alya was breathing. See what really got her gasping. She sort of moved my hand where it needed to go.”

“Nino’s _saucisse_ was comparatively much easier to manage.”

“My dick is straightforward, there’s no shame in that.”

“Wait wait wait,” said Marinette, interrupting their increasingly fond reminiscence. “You’re telling me that you had a _totally normal_ , and _completely rational_ first time doing hand stuff to each others’ nether carnivals, and nothing exploded and you didn’t get cum or molten steel or lightning bolts anywhere?”

“Oh dude,” said Nino. “Hell no. It was downright romantic and relaxed, to be honest.”

“Yeah I really think I couldn’t have had a better first fingerbang with a guy,” said Alya. “Completely great all the way around.”

“It was super hot.”

“Yeah, and Nino was real into it when I cleaned my hand off with my mouth.”

Marinette sucked in a breath. She’d managed to handle inferences about Alya and Nino’s first trip to the Directory pretty well up to that point, but the idea of Alya tidying up her fingers by licking them clean was a little bit _too much_ for her. Beside her, Adrien was still staring slack-jawed and vacant, but Marinette was past that point and had run _straight_ into flustered. She buried her head in her hands, folding herself over crossed legs, unsure where to land on her own personal axis of “abashed” to “aroused.” Apparently, Alya and Nino had quite the track record under blankets…

And when Nino said “Same,” it didn’t help, either.

“Oh wow,” she whispered. “Oh gosh.”

“Wait,” said Adrien, his voice like a thousand chiming bells, lifting Marinette from her sexually embarrassed reverie. “Let me get just one thing straight.”

“Sure, dude,” said Nino. “I’m an open book.”

“...Ladybug hooked you and Alya up?”

Nino and Alya exchanged a glance. Then a shrug.

“Pretty much, yeah.” Alya flipped her hair and draped a leg across Nino’s lap. She leaned back onto her elbows. “I mean, Nino was into Marinette at the time, and I just sort of thought of him as a regular pretty okay guy. But Ladybug tossed us together in the cage and this led to that. And now we’ve made out in a panther cage, and no one else has, which means I win.”

“ _We_ win,” protested Nino.

“Fine, _we_ win. And that’s why I had some questions for you the next day. Remember?”

“So _that’s_ why you wanted to know what I saw on him in the showers…” Adrien had a far-off look in his eye.

“Hell yeah, sunflower! Gotta get a scan of the goods.”

“Thanks, by the way,” said Nino. “Bros always be describing bros’ junk accurately.”

Adrien was still distracted by his private thoughts. “Man, I can’t believe it. Ladybug hooked you two up.”

“Yeah dude, pretty cool, huh?”

Marinette, still curled up with her face in her hands, was listening with a keen ear. She, of course, knew exactly how slapdash it had been as she hooked Nino up with Alya. It was a lucky break that it had turned out so successfully and romantically for them--but then again, who’s luckier than Ladybug?

“You know… even though we’re already together, I kinda want Ladybug to hook us up on a date,” said Adrien, resting a hand on Marinette’s shoulder.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“What?”

 

* * *

 

After distracting Adrien from her slip of the tongue by slipping her tongue onto his for a while, Marinette managed to solidly redirect her sexually flustered state from remembering Story Time with Alya and Nino back to fully focus on Adrien. Even bespeckled with custard and dampened with squirt bottles, the pure excitement of being at a _party_ with each other, where they had _already passed the kissing hurdle_ and could now _just kiss whenever they wanted_ was supremely thrilling--enough to distract Adrien from the desire for Ladybug to hook him and Marinette up, and as well as to distract him from Marinette’s certainty about how likely that might be.

Alya and Nino had both given them broad, sly winks, and indicated that they were going to just leave them there, on the bed, as they joined the rest of the lightly-making-out, heavily-flirting party around Adrien’s entertainment center. Mylene had burrowed under Ivan’s shirt, as was her wont, and Max was gleefully taking bets on whether Alix or Kim would lose this round of Ultimate Mecha Strike III. Trust Max to turn everyone’s favorite video game into everyone’s favorite gambling operation. Juleka and Rose, it appeared, had decided to share some quality time under a blanket. _Good stuff happens under blankets_ , thought Adrien.

The rest of the party was absorbed with activities on the other side of the room. Which left Adrien and Marinette alone, on the bed.

With a blanket.

They were horizontal before they realized it, collapsing onto their sides with hands full of each other’s bodies and lips full of each other’s lips and bodies close enough they could feel heartbeats doubling their pace. Though Alya and Nino had diverted them from their closet escapade for a _very_ good reason, there was still an _immense_ volume of romantic buildup between them--not to mention that which Nino and Alya’s lessons had included. You can only spend so much time practicing hand-stuff techniques with one very specific person in mind before it becomes _a mighty need_ to make out with them.

Adrien’s heart felt like it was trying to break out of his sternum and introduce itself to Marinette’s _tetons_ on its own. Her arm had curled around his shoulders and head, pulling him close, and her leg was looped around his own. He could feel a persistent, eager heat pressing into him at hip level, right at the crux of Marinette’s legs.

He _wanted_ to be a gentleman, _honest_ . But she was just so _warm_ and _nice_ and _sexy_ and her teeth were on his lip. With all of that going on, and the fact that her other hand was pulling his hips directly into her own, how could he resist grinding himself against her a little? How could he let her down like that?

Obviously, he couldn’t.

Fashion dictates that your trousers not be too loose, and even Adrien’s casual weekend pants were well-tailored and stylish, rather than comfortably cut. Normally, this had the effect of showing off his figure to its best advantage, but it made things quite snug in the middle of his first dry-humping session. Not necessarily a bad thing, of course--but it did force Adrien to--ahem--point himself down his left pant leg, rather than pack upwards for optimal grinding. No huge loss. Marinette had _definitely_ noticed that there was a _baguette dans sa poche_ , which was to say he was _very_ happy to see her. She was gliding her mons along him in smooth, heated slides, gasping little exclamation points into his kisses with every cycle of her hips. Apparently, close-fitting leggings were an excellent choice for this kind of activity.

While she was working up a little rhythm, Adrien felt his own staccato breathing becoming more irregular. It was an exciting moment, after all. Apparently, his hips had opinions of their own, and were shifting to greet Marinette’s own every time she pushed against him. Without realizing it, his hand had migrated to Marinette’s ass, guided by her own. He was pulling her closer, her hand sliding his own down under the band of her leggings. He felt lace, and skin, and muscle, and warmth.

In between flurries of kisses and gasps and gentle moans, Adrien whispered back and forth to Marinette, a dozen and a hundred and a thousand little permissions and encouragements and gratitudes flitting between them as they touched as much of each others’ bodies as they possibly could.

“Adrien,” she whispered to him, guiding his hand up her stomach, under her shirt. “Will you…?”

He would.

Without him noticing, she’d undone the clasp of her bra, so his hand slipped under the cup easily, and there was no lace between his fingers and her _teton_ this time. They both sucked in a trembling rush of air as his hand slipped around her, thumb grazing the tip of her breast, instantly stiffening the nipple. His breath was even more ragged now, as Marinette pressed herself into him again, her body as greedy as his hands, and she swallowed his lips with her own.

The past few days had really taught Adrien that parties were _great_.

They stayed like that--a comfortably intense plateau of grinding against each other, cursing their clothing for being too _present_ , and enjoying the Reign of Terror without the impediment of an undergarment between tit and palm. Experimentally, Adrien nibbled Marinette’s lip, like she’d been doing to him. The effects on her were even more intense than they had been on Adrien, and he felt her body buck and her breath gasp across his lips as he gently bit into the incredible softness of her lower lip. He played around with it, teasing. The trisk, he figured, was not to _hurt_ such a precious and perfect part of the body, but to simply let it know that you were there, and you were _not_ always soft.

And speaking of not always soft, Marinette pressed her hips onto his length harder, and withdrew her lip from his teeth.

“W-was that okay?” he asked. She nodded, eagerly, still gyrating onto him. Things were slightly blurry for a second after those gyrations, but he soon realized she was talking to him.

“I’d like to keep going… if that’s okay.” It was his turn to nod. Eagerly. “We c-could go to the closet maybe, to… try some things.” Her breath was very warm on his skin, and every movement of her body sent shudders down his spine. “M-maybe see what A-Alya and Nino t-taught each of us…” She blinked at him from under thick, dark lashes. “We learned a lot. Do you… want to… study?”

Her suggestion sent little lightning bolts crackling across every deep nerve in his body, quivering waves of sensation running out in rings from the base of his skull. His fingers tightened on Marinette’s _tetine_ , earning a gasp from her, and he paired it with his own, as she tightened the hold of her legs around his hips, bringing her molten-hot core gliding up the length of his--

_Uh oh._

Her lips were back on his as he spasmed, the wracking crests of pleasure running through the core of his senses making the kiss more raw, more elemental, than any they had shared before. Her tongue muffled his moans, and Marinette felt his whole body quake under her hands, his fingers digging with a deeply sensual force into the back of her thigh and the peak of her breast. Adrien’s body rocked against her, one, two, three times in a pattern of climax as familiar to her as any could be. Four, five, six, and he was somehow not done, each spasm rushing pleasure in a gasp from his lips directly into Marinette’s essence. And the thin fabric on her thigh was feeling very suddenly warmer, and more _damp_ , than it had just moments before. Seven, eight crests rocked against her, and Adrien collapsed forward slightly, head tucked into the crook of her neck, moaning a low note into her collarbone, leaving Marinette gasping and flushed like it was _her_ who had just gotten off.

“Oh my god,” a small voice whispered from her neck region. “I am so sorry, I--”

“Shh,” she replied. “Shh.”

She kissed him again, with more tenderness than lust this time, tilting his head up to face her, sliding her fingers down his cheek. Every tiny touch saying that it was alright. That there was nothing to apologize for. That feeling him pulse while pressed up against her would top the list of _any_ woman’s fantasies, let alone Marinette’s very specific obsession.

That she was not _nearly_ done with him tonight.

“Adrien, the offer still sta…” Her words were lost as she looked down their bodies, still pressed close. Adrien followed her eyes, glancing down his body.

From the upper part of Adrien’s thigh all the way down to his ankle, there was a long irregular splash of dampness. By how it was spreading across the fabric, and how it was mostly concentrated at thigh-to-knee level, it was immediately evident that it had originated _inside_ the pants, and from what _body part_ it had originated.

Adrien’s orgasmic baggage, so to speak, had enough adhesive force to attach clothing to ceilings; apparently, it also had enough volume and force to soak the inseam of whatever he was wearing from the thigh to the hem.

“Goddamn…” said Marinette, a dazed, but dreamy, look on her face. She shook herself back to alertness and snapped her jaw shut. _Was I about to start drooling? Nevermind. Focus._

It simply wouldn’t do to have everyone knowing that Adrien had benutted his own trousers--though of course, it being his party, it was only fair that he get off first. Well… get off in his own _bed_ first, at least. Ignoring how _flattered_ she was that her grinding skills had led Adrien to this compromising state, Marinette tried to identify the least embarrassing way out of this.

Adrien, of course, was staring wide-eyed in horror at the runoff from his very own _noixx_ -factory. He’d have the ADEME on his tail for sure, with a spill this big.

Marinette spied what she needed. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed an unattended, mostly-full beverage. She then spoke, in a loud, clear voice, audible to the party at large.

“Oops.”

And splashed the contents of the cup onto Adrien’s pants.

 

* * *

 

Alya turned around when she heard Marinette’s “oops.” She was just in time to see a startled Adrien scoot into a sitting position on the bed, and Marinette whistle nonchalantly as she discarded the empty plastic cup.

“We’d better get you out of those wet clothes, Adrien!” said Marinette, completely innocently.

 _Nicely done, girl_ , thought Alya, shooting Marinette a wink and a thumbs-up from where she reclined on the couch.

“Wha--oh. OH. Yeah! I guess we had better!” said Adrien, picking up Marinette’s clues with surprising rapidity.

 _Also nicely done, bougainvillea,_ Alya thought. _You pick stuff up pretty quickly for a homeschooled rich-boy nerd._

Their tactic was obvious. Marinette would pretend to spill something on Adrien, they would have to repair to the bathroom to get “cleaned up” ( _Then again_ , she thought, _… they are both kind of covered in pastry leavings),_ coincidentally sneaking a little bit of alone time together, and before you know it, they’re putting their recent pastry pleasure lessons to good use. _Couldn’t have done it better myself_.  She elbowed Nino, who had turned his hat backwards and buried his face between her tits and was making soft, contented noises.

“Well all right, looks like they finally scooted off to a private area,” said Alya, examining Adrien and Marinette’s disappearing forms as they ducked into the bathroom, waggling her eyebrows. “ _Foutu_ finally.”

“Yeah, seriously. Room with a sink is the right place to be if you’re that thirsty.” Nino’s hand was sliding up her thigh. He potentially had some ideas that paralleled what their best friends were about to do. “But the bed’s free, now…”

 

* * *

 

Alya executed a precise backwards somersault over the couch, taking care to mask any sounds of her movement with the ambient noise of Alix’s shrimp robot demolishing Kim’s catbot. Nino followed her, oozing over the back of the couch with a fluidity that spoke of years practicing rave stuff in front of the mirror in his bedroom. They dropped onto the floor silently, padding gently over to the bed and wiping a layer of pastry crumbs off of the duvet. Burrowing under the thick blankets, they giggled to each other in the darkness, mimicking with substantial accuracy what Adrien and Marinette had just been doing.

Eventually, they paused mid-hookup to perform their second-favorite activity: speculating on Marinette and Adrien’s sex lives.

“I wonder which one of them is going to go first? I bet Marinette. Girl’s just _gotta_ get her hands on that boy,” Alya theorized with her hand down the back of Nino’s pants.

“Totally right, babe. Adrien’s a giving bro, I’m sure, but there’s no way he’s gonna make the first do-stuff-to-your-bits move. Too much of a--” Under the sheets, in the darkness, Nino suddenly went ashen, his hands stilling on Alya’s _tetons_.

“Nino? What’s up? Why’d you stop?”

“You--you told them to go one at a time, right? Like you warned them to take turns, didn’t you?”

Alya paled. “Oh no…”

The couple popped their heads out from under the comforter, eyes locked on the closed bathroom door.

“They’re…” said Nino.

“They’re both going to try to go at the same time,” finished Alya. “It’s going to be a disaster.”

“Should we stop them?”

“We’d do more harm than good, at this point.”

“They trained for this. They can do it.”

Alya’s eyes misted over as she gazed into the middle distance.

“We can only hope, Lahiffe. We can only hope....

“...Now get your fingers in me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRITICALLY IMPORTANT EDIT: FANART!  
> Eizabet beautifully immortalized Marinette's first eclair failure!
> 
> https://eizabet.tumblr.com/post/151354209098/abadmeanman-eizabet-poor-adri-%C3%A9clair-if
> 
> ————————————————
> 
> This is a party popper: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Party_popper
> 
> I hope you will understand and forgive me for my dorky little back-and-forth bit there. I couldn't help myself. I've used more line breaks in this damn chapter, I tell you hwhat...
> 
> Well y'all, I hope that pastry handjob scene was entertaining and maybe even a little informative. I didn't exactly survey the population, but some of that is definitely informed by my personal history, not to get too detailed...
> 
> And oh, Adrien. You'll get another chance, soon.
> 
> ————————————————  
> EDIT: I got some feedback about this chapter, so I figure I'll share it with y'all!
> 
> Saliva is not an ideal lube; first of all, it can potentially transmit disease, and second, it just doesn't function as well as an actual honest-to-god lube. I'm not focusing heavily on safe sex practices here, because it's not the real purpose of my fic, and everyone who's hooking up here has a really small circle of partners. So far. Long story short: Only exchange fluids with partners you trust, to be as safe as you can. 
> 
> But I do want all of y'all to be safe! So, check out Go Ask Alice. It's a web-based resource for health questions, and it has a pretty robust section on sexuality, too! Here's a very important entry which relates to this chapter:
> 
> http://www.goaskalice.columbia.edu/answered-questions/what-foods-can-be-used-safely-all-forms-sex
> 
> Enjoy! Fuck safely, fuck consensually, and fuck well, if you want to fuck at all!


	25. In Which Nudity Occurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Adrien scamper off for some privacy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Y'ALL: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEFINITELY MATURE MATERIAL, MAYBE BORDERING ON EXPLICIT**
> 
> Also this is likely the chapter with the most fluff I've written so far.
> 
> BUT MOST IMPORTANTLY: Eizabet made an amazing art for chapter 24! Oh my fucking heck!
> 
> https://eizabet.tumblr.com/post/151350683192/poor-adri-%C3%A9clair-if-youre-familiar-with-chapter
> 
> I, personally, am shrieking.

_“You--you told them to go one at a time, right? Like you warned them to take turns, didn’t you?”_

_Alya paled. “Oh no…”_

_The couple popped their heads out from under the comforter, eyes locked on the closed bathroom door._

_“They’re…” said Nino._

_“They’re both going to try to go at the same time,” finished Alya. “It’s going to be a disaster.”_

_“Should we stop them?”_

_“We’d do more harm than good, at this point.”_

_“They trained for this. They can do it.”_

_Alya’s eyes misted over as she gazed into the middle distance._

_“We can only hope, Lahiffe. We can only hope...._

_“Now get your fingers in me.”_

* * *

“Pay up.”

“Look, Tikki, I maintain that my bet was closer to the _actual_ number of pastries that got ruined.”

“We agreed on ‘closest without going over,’ and I am not about to back down. They destroyed ten altogether, and a baker’s dozen is _more than eleven_.”

“You fiend,” said Plagg, sulking. He nibbled a bite of Camembert, savoring the last few alabaster dairy nuggets he could rightfully claim, before passing the remainder of the wheel to Tikki. “How dare you thieve my precious cheeses.”

“Have a little faith in your holder, Plagg! What are the odds that Adrien would--and I quote--’fingerblast eleven danishes into smithereens’ before giving up?”

“You haven’t seen him at night. You don’t know. The boy’s actions are _frantic_. Frenzied!”

Tikki padded out a divot in the wheel of Camembert, forming a cheese-throne. She sat in it, surveying the party from the safety of a partially-open drawer in Adrien’s desk.

“So, you watch Adrien and his… frantic actions?”

Plagg’s eyes widened, and his pupils narrowed. “What? What!? Not what I meant! I--I mean--”

“We all get curious, Plagg,” said Tikki. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of!”

“Why you--”

“So many naughty little behaviors over the years… Carving names into a tree… Midnight rendezvous in the woods… Hiding the erotic pottery.”

“Accidentally kissing each others’ secret identities.”

“How does that happen _every time_?!”

“Weird, huh? And how Ladybugs will always steal cell phones or carrier pigeons or telegraph wires or whatever they got.”

“Definitely a bizarre pattern,” agreed Tikki. “And for reference, I _do_ politely ask that they not steal any communication devices.”

“I’m not even _sure_ how it’s possible that every Chat writes tremendously awful poetry.” Plagg shook his head. “‘Strong disguise,’ seriously…”

Tikki nodded. “Mmmm hmm. And how Chat--”

A muffled series of grunts and groans from the bed interrupted their commiseration. Adrien and Marinette were enjoying their post-lesson fling one moment, and then suddenly…

“...How Chat Noir _always_ seems to finish so quickly,” she concluded.

“WHY ARE THEY ALWAYS SO PRODIGIOUS!?” asked Plagg, whispering his question in as shouty a way as he could manage and still remain a secret. “Seriously! Most humans cannot do that to their own pant legs!”

“Wow I thought he needed to transform to use Cataclysm,” said Tikki. “And yet, we just saw Adrien completely destroy his pants! And his suave demeanor!”

“Oh yeah? Well maybe it was actually the Lucky Charm--it pretty much looks like Marinette _created_ a mess in his pants.”

“Hey don’t lay this on Marinette, she’s a model of restraint!”

“Um excuse me, Chat Noir wears a leather bodysuit; _Adrien_ is clearly the model of restraint.”

Tikki’s tiny kwami mouth sunk into a tiny kwami O of shock. Her tiny kwami life flashed before her tiny kwami eyes. She was _wrecked_ by that tiny kwami play on words. “Plagg…. that pun…” A tiny kwami tear glistened in her eye. “... That pun was amazing.”

“At last you recognize my true power.”

“Adrien must really be rubbing off on you! You normally don’t collect quirks from your holders.”

“Hey! That was all me! I’m my own kwami! Totally Plagg, no Adrien in that pun!”

“Suuuuure, kitty, whatever you say.” She patted the wheel of camembert, inviting him to sit with her.

From the throne of cheese, the two kwami observed the latter stages of Marinette and Adrien’s escapades on the bed. Adrien had already almost rocketed himself into the headboards with the force of his early release; shortly after, Marinette spilled her drink onto him. As always, she was little miss Plausible Deniability in action. Once they had established an alibi (followed by the _impeccable_ line about getting him out of wet clothes), their two miraculous holders snuck off to the bathroom.

…

“Want to go spy on them?” asked Tikki.

“Uh, obviously yes.”

“Pervert!”

“YOU’RE the pervert!”

* * *

“Alright pay up.”

“Hey! Check the clock you dingus! They clearly snuck off _before_ midnight. We go by _clocks_ not by the _sunset_!”

“Are we not going to count the sexting? I think that should count.”

“Oh _nice try_ Kim, like we would count the sexting.”

“Children, children, we’re all adults here, I’m sure we can settle this amicably.” Alya clapped her hands for attention. The process for determining the winners of the Marinette/Adrien Finally Hooking Up pool was delicate enough without petty squabbling upturning it. Since she had agreed to make the books, serving as the house for this romantic little casino, she would have to arbitrate the final date and the final verdict. There were a number of fiery personalities in on the betting pool, eager for the I-told-you-so swagger that winning would give them.

Alya smiled to herself. You see, the house always wins.

She produced a battered moleskine from her purse and checked the time.

“Okay. we can all agree: they snuck off to the bathroom one minute ago, on Saturday evening. Anyone who bet on Friday or Sunday, you’re out of this round. Looks like…. Max, Mylene, Ivan, Juleka, Kim, Nathanael, that’s you. Rose, Nino, Alix, y’all are eligible.” She did some quick math in her head. Whoever was closest to the right time was going to have a pretty nice stack.

A few more pages flipped. She compared the precise times the four finalists had put down. A smirk decorated her lips. _Makes perfect sense_.

“I’ll break the news to the ones who got eliminated first,” she said. “First: Nino. Nice try, but they did _not_ sneak off to hook up at eleven in the morning.”

“Aww… I thought they’d try to sneak one in beforehand.”

“Doesn’t count since Kim interrupted them! Way to go Kim.”

“Hey!”

“Next up: Alix. Sorry, girl, we all appreciate betting on the stroke of midnight--get it?--but you were off, too.”

Alix crossed her arms, mumbling something about how “.. Chronogirl could have made it so I won,” but Alya continued.

“And yet here we have Rose, who not only guessed in the correct ballpark, but also guessed the correct minute? Damn, girl. You’ve got sharply honed romance senses.”

“Oh gosh! Yay! I do?” The little blonde was bouncing up and down in delight.

Juleka, snuggled to her side, simply nodded.

“Nicely done, romance queen Rose. In addition to your newfound wealth, I recommend a toast.”

If there is one thing which can unify disparate groups who all just lost a fat stack of cash to a literal human pixie, it’s a toast. Teens scrambled to refill beverages, or readjust garments as they extracted themselves from slightly incriminating positions. Within moments, everyone had a drink in hand and was ready for Alya’s toast.

“To Adrien and Marinette: It’s about fucking time for it to be fucking time.”

“Language!” said Rose. “But yeah! We always knew their love would win!”

“I’m glad,” said Juleka. “Two shockingly sweet people.”

“Those two adorable idiots,” said Nino, raising his glass. “May they look as cute to each other as they look to us.”

“I think we’d all pretty much have a threesome with them,” said Alix, in what amounted to her version of a toast.

“Damn girl give it some time,” said Alya. “...But yeah.”

“I kinda want to watch,” said Nathanael. “I’m not the only one who kinda wants to watch, right?” Everyone shook their head. It would definitely be quite the sight… but neither Marinette nor Adrien could handle it, guaranteed. At least not yet.

“I’m really so happy for them!” said Mylene. “Even if I don’t get to watch!”

Ivan joined her sentiment. “Yeah, especially to Marinette. She’s so nice, and it’s good to see her finally getting her dream boy.” His hand rested on his own dream girl’s knee.

“I don’t think even I would be competition for either of them,” added Kim in a startling display of modesty. “They clearly need to be together.”

“Let’s hope that Adrien has gotten better at button mashing,” said Max, looking directly at Alya. “As I believe you say: ‘Wink.’”

Once the laughter had died down from Max’s (likely prophetic) pun, the classmates downed their beverages, adding another layer of satisfyingly tipsy to their sustained buzz. By mutual, unspoken agreement, they all allowed Marinette and Adrien as much time as they wanted alone in the bathroom. For the moment, at least. It’s not like Adrien’s room was lacking in entertainment value--the sneakaway couple would probably enjoy a little additional noise to cover their antics.

You know--apologies, crashes, small explosions. Things like that.

Alix roundly destroyed Kim in the tiebreaker battle of their Ultimate Mecha Strike III tournament, so Kim obviously went double-or-nothing on a Dance Dance French Revolution challenge. A victory at DDFR would both overturn Alix’s winning streak (earning him a dare from her), and potentially topple Juleka’s and Nino’s records. Though he would never admit it, Kim had a secret love for efficient challenges.

The stirring strains of _La Marseillaise_ flowed through the room as Kim and Alix dance-danced to their heart’s content. Juleka had put on a movie in the background, more for noise pollution than any group interest, and so the dulcet tones of Gene Hackman serenaded the classmates as The French Connection played. Or, as they called it in France, “The Connection.” It was a suitable enough diversion that no one noticed Rose sneaking her girlfriend off to Adrien’s bed for a little quality time between her lips and Juleka’s curves. She had plenty to celebrate, after all.

Mylene and Ivan were on the upper landing in a blanket fort, making out in between flipping through Adrien’s comics. In the corner, Max and Nathanael were having a highly technical discussion about which powerful anime robots were the _most_ powerful, and Alya had successfully convinced Nino to try Adrien’s pole. He didn’t need much convincing. When she clarified that she meant the fireman pole, he was a little bit more stubborn.

“I’m gonna bust my entire dome, Alya! You like this dome! It’s attached to all the parts I use to kiss you!”

“If you took your hat off for a hot second your dome might actually be in peril,” she said. “Now pole dance for my amusement. St. Alya wills it.”

Nino grumbled, but was already halfway up the stairs before he had a worthwhile rejoinder.

“Hey! Okay I’ll do this, but you gotta either do that thing we talked about or lose some clothing!”

Several sets of eyes turned to them--extra nudity was always a delight. Alix and Kim were too busy _allons_ ing the _enfants_ of the _patrie_ , but Nathanael and Max both perked up at the possibility of Alya nudity, and four eyes peered from beneath blankets on the second floor. Even Rose paused with her hand halfway up a lacy goth negligee to get a potential eyeful.

Ever perceptive, Alya noticed immediately that she’d become the center of attention.

“Well, well, well,” she said, crossing her arms under her bust to boost her boobs a bit. “Nino, you sure know how to sweet-talk a girl out of her garments.”

“Tsk tsk.” Nino clucked his tongue, draping himself over the clear railing of Adrien’s spiral staircase. “You know as well as I do that you can’t get sweet-talked unless you want it. But you also know you can’t resist a sexy exchange, wager, or predicament.”

“Guilty as charged,” said Alya. “So I suppose I can maybe take off a sock, or two, maybe.” Sitting down on the arm of the sofa, she leaned back and stretched, showing a long length of legginged leg, ending in a delightfully bare expanse of belly under her slightly-too-tight flannel. “But if you do a good job…”

Nino was already sliding down the pole. He’d seen various parts of Alya in various states of undress many times, but there was just _something_ about getting her a little bit denuded in a semi-public setting that he was _very_ interested in. Part of it was a straightforward pride in his partner, of course--but there was also the thrill of seeing Alya get flustered. Even just a little bit of flustration was a satisfying feather in his cap.

Unfortunately for Nino, his first trip down the pole was hardly impressive.

Getting Alya naked was a truly noble cause, but the distance from the top of the pole to the bottom had definitely telescoped from about four meters to somewhere in the order of eight hundred nautical miles. His friends, as if from a great distance, appeared as tiny figures far away, waving tiny stick-figure arms at him, in encouragement.

Nino was horny, but not _stupid_. You don’t attack a pole-- _Hey, does this pole seem a lot more slippery?_ \--without some sort of _plan_. The best plan, probably, was to hold on as tight as possible to the pole, and slide down as slowly as could be managed. For the first trip, at least. Definitely.

He gingerly wrapped his fingers around the cold steel, trying to get as much of a solid grip as sweaty palms and smooth metal could afford. _How the_ foutre _did Adrien manage this so easily? He slid the whole way upside-_ foutu _-down!_ Balancing his weight on his left foot--safely planted on the landing--he carefully hooked his leg around the pole. Its slipperiness on his jeans was not encouraging.

_Just breathe… one… two… three!_

He shifted his weight, flinging himself onto the pole and wrapping himself as tightly around it as he could. Immediately, he began to plummet, his mind’s eye illustrating the ground rushing up to annihilate him, even as he squnched his eyes closed to avoid that messy reality.

* * *

Everyone observing was treated to the charming scene of Nino softly screaming into the pole as he gently and slowly descended down its length. After a solid minute of mildly panicked shrieking, Nino alighted on the ground in a tightly compacted ball of DJ, completely unharmed.

After a moment or two of rest, Nino unscrewed his eyes and jumped to his feet, away from the dangerous pole. A whispered “Nailed it” died on his lips as he heard the _cacophonous laughter_ of his classmates.

What kind of hero’s welcome was this? He’d done the impossible!

“Oh, Nino…” said Alya, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of her sweater, removing tears of laughter. “That was… that was something else.”

“Hey! It’s a lot harder than it looks!”

“I’m sure it is! But honestly, Nino, for a pole slide like that, you only get one sock.” From her seat on the couch, she lifted her toes up to his face, leaning back again to brace herself. “You can choose. Left or right?”

“You’d be rhmmm drmmm if you’d grrr grummm,” grumbled Nino, plucking Alya’s left sock off. “I’d like to see someone else try.”

“I’ll give it a try!” said Rose. “If Juleka can be at the bottom to catch me!”

Everyone agreed.

Rose didn’t have any more luck than Nino on her attempt to slide down the pole. She curled up into a tinier, blonder, pinker ball than Nino did, but her tiny scream was pretty much identical.

“Did I do it?” she asked, being patted and pampered by Juleka.

“You did great,” replied Juleka. “Way better than Nino.”

“Hey!”

“Sooooo, Rose,” said Mylene. “Since you went down the pole, who do you want to take off some clothing?”

The classmates paused for a second, taking in the implications of what Mylene had suggested.

“Why Mylene,” said Ivan, beating Alya to the punch. “That sounds like a fun little game. We can turn this fireman pole into even more of a stripper pole. I guess a stripp _-ing_ pole.”

“Excellent idea!” said Rose. “I can get anyone to strip!”

“And hey,” added Alya. “Since you won the pool, you should get a special little treat, too.”

“Ooooh!” She looked around the room, analyzing everyone for the best clothing to remove.

 _I_ do _so love to see Juleka naked_ , she thought. _But I also get to see her all the time… Ivan already showed his baguette to Juleka, so I don’t need to ask him…_ She tapped her chin thoughtfully, checking out every member of the party present. _Kim and Alix are busy, and I’ve already seen Alix. And squeezed her boobs! Alya’s probably going to try to get Nino naked soon… Nino’s going to get Alya naked… Max is definitely going to be doing his thing with Alix and Kim…_

_Wait! Nathanael!_

“Nathanael!” she said, clapping her hands. “Let me see your baguette!”

* * *

The bathroom door slid closed, and Marinette’s lips were instantly on Adrien’s. His little indiscretion down the entire left leg of his pants was, for the moment, forgotten, as Marinette pressed herself entirely up against him, matching every line of her body to every line of his. She pulled him into her, backing herself against the cabinets, savoring the weight and pressure of his body against her own as she felt the still-very-firm presence of his rolling pin against her thighs.

At first, Adrien was still a little stunned--the post- _noixx_ lethargy making his knees wobble under him with every step, and his own keen sense of shame at finishing so _early_ preventing him from enjoying what Marinette was doing to him.

But not for long. Marinette was doing some _very_ nice things to him.

He kissed back almost immediately, climax-daze forgotten as he braced himself with forearms against the cabinets, hungrily swallowing her lips into his mouth and feeling her tight, firm curves under him. One of her arms traced up under his sweater, feeling the topography of muscles running up his spine and sending lightning shivers from his shoulderblades down to the tips of his toes. Modern science couldn’t explain his absolute abandonment of the male refractory period--it might as well have been 1889 again, because his Tour Eiffel was getting _erected_.

Marinette was moaning again--those same warm wordless syllables that had turned his casualwear into one of Alix’s pastry experiments. Her other hand had hooked itself into a belt loop, tugging his hips into hers, pressing herself firmly enough into him that he _swore_ he could tell what the cut of her panties was.

(Lace boyshorts. He was pretty sure they were black, too.)

They spent some unknown period of time there, something between forever and an instant, before they could manage to drag their lips from each other. Once they had parted, they rested their foreheads together, breathing heavily. Adrien drew his forearms in, compressing Marinette into a tight embrace. Her hands clutched at him just as hard.

And as he so often did in pauses in the conversation, Adrien started to apologize.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to c...cum on the bed it’s just that mmm mhmmm mmmm,” he trailed off, finding it difficult to speak with Marinette’s mouth touching his. “Mmmm…”

They pulled apart again, eyes closed, savoring the lingering aftereffects of the kiss skidding along their nerve endings. They each took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh.

“It’s just you felt so _good_ and I didn’t want to mmf,” he said, cut off again, this time a short little huff of a sigh preceding Marinette’s kiss. This time, she pulled back with eyes open and a finger left behind on Adrien’s lips.

“Adrien…” she said, in a whisper, face close enough to his that he could feel her breath kissing his chin. “Believe me when I say _it’s fine_. I dragged you in here _specifically_ to show you how fine it is.” Her other hand rested against his cheek, keeping him facing her for a still-tipsy, still-vertiginous moment of honesty.

She took a breath.

“This is a little… well. It’s a little h-hard to admit,” she admitted. “But I don’t think I’ve ever felt... “

She couldn’t do it. Eye contact. It was too much. She released Adrien’s face and scrunched her hands in his sweater, pressing her face into his chest. With an “Um…,” he laid his hand on the back of her head with a gentle, if confused, pat-pat-pat.

“Sorry,” she said, addressing his cashmere collarbones. “It’s just a lot…”

 _It sure_ was _a lot. Down his_ pant leg _._

_Shut up, Wine-Me! This is a vulnerable admission!_

_Okay, gosh._

“It’s just… I don’t think I… I’ve ever felt _anything_ as f-fucking hot as feeling you finish when you were pressed _right up against me_.”

Her finger curled harder into his top, and her breathing took on a staccato, halting rhythm that Adrien’s own breath matched instantly. They clung there, pressed against the cabinets, _deeply_ interested in each other, but neither _quite sure_ what to do with those facts. But they had some ideas.

Adrien experiences the curious combination of his heartbeat relaxing (because Marinette wasn’t completely aghast at his ungentlemanly premature orgasm) and his breath speeding up (because she had told him that feeling him cum right against her velveteen croissant had been _extremely erotic_ ). He sucked in a shuddering breath and held his girlfriend close to his chest, keenly aware of how close his baguette was to the _very_ toasty oven he’d felt grinding against him back on the bed.

 _Marinette must be rubbing off on me--and I don’t mean just bakery puns_.

_Shut up, Wine-Me! Damn! That was a really personal thing to share! Don’t be a prick!_

_Ugh, fine. You win this round, sobriety._

“I’m so glad…” he whispered into her hair. “I… I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Adrien.” Her voice summoned his eyes to her. She was looking up at him past thick lashes, from the vantage point of his chest. “You could never be a disappointment. I’ll always want _you_.”

She kissed him again, with as much tenderness as passion this time. Adrien’s arms wrapped around her, bringing them closer as the kiss deepened and warmed them both from the lips outward. The kiss had its own rhythm and power, a deep thrumming barely perceptible to either of them; it grew and grew, immersing them in its vibrations and bringing them to a tingling, lightheaded fog that left them giggling and slightly dizzy, foreheads and noses pressed squishy against each other, little snips of laughter tracing out of lips that had just finished performing an _impeccable_ kiss.

Every kiss that Marinette and Adrien shared had been another slam of the accelerator, rushing their various thirsts deeper and deeper into the desert, until this one. It was shared in a moment of quiet vulnerability, less focused on the _immediate_ and more on the _potential_. It was a kiss shared by two people who wanted to _make love_ , rather than just _foutre_.

But then again… they wanted to fuck, too.

They rested there, eyes closed, pressed against each other in a tight embrace that was _exactly_ what Adrien had needed since approximately forever, and especially since approximately twelve minutes ago when he had bespunked his entire left leg in front of the girl he wanted to impress _second most_ in the world.

Maybe first most--don’t tell Ladybug.

Marinette ran her hands along his back, again feeling the long lines of muscle tracing his back and-- _No! Being supportive! Adrien is insecure!_

Marinette ran her hands along his back, holding him close to her with only her usual amount of ulterior motives-- _Better_ \--and buried her face into the puff of soft wool at his shoulder. For as much as she was infinitely desirous of Adrien’s perfect body and glittering affection, she wasn’t too thirsty to realize that it was _extremely_ embarrassing for a dude to pop off ahead of schedule.

She was truly appreciating how Mlle. Wine (and having already kissed and sexted and ground against Adrien) was making it _much_ easier to actually talk to him. A month ago, she could not have formed a cogent sentence around him, and now her ability to speak in front of Adrien had gotten trial-by-fired into near- _adroitness_. She’d felt his… Well, she’d felt him against her, as he was climaxing, and it had been one of the singularly most erotic experiences she’d ever had. The feel of his body, pushing against her, the pulse of him spilling himself into his pants, the ragged breaths he drew in--everything formed a true highlight of her life, and she was a _foutu_ _superhero_.

But for him…

Orgasming with someone is an intense moment, but also an intense moment of vulnerability. Loss of control, release of endorphins, something so _personal_. Even when they had masturbated side-by-side at her party, the intimacy hadn’t been so intense; they had been touching only with their eyes. Feeling him against her, in an uneven distribution of sexual crescendo, added an entirely new dynamic. Marinette was new to romance, and new to Adrien’s body, but she was _not_ new to feeling insecure or exposed.

And so she held him. And he held her right back.

They rested there, building confidence in themselves and each other. Willing to share a moment of awkwardness, and tenderness, and willing to accept they they could handle it, and it simplly _wasn’t so bad_.

“I promise, Adrien. It’s true. I want you. I always will.” She was answered with a satisfying little intake of breath, and Adrien holding her more tightly. Face in his chest, she smiled. “And anyways… I was on the other end of your phone on Thursday. I _know_ that you’re not finished after just smmrrnkn,” she said.

“After… what?” asked Adrien, looking down at Marinette. She’d slipped a hand from around his back and had clapped it over her mouth. Her eyes were wide and blue and locked onto something behind his back. He turned around.

“What do you--Hmmmph!” he said, the words cut off by a sudden chuckle he hid behind his own hand.

They were pressed against the cabinets, with Adrien’s back to the room and the large mirror over the bathroom sink. Marinette’s eyes were locked on their reflection, as they cuddled upright against the opposite wall.

In the mirror, Marinette’s hair was glopped into strands, cemented by creme fraiche, and her cheeks were red wherever custard wasn’t covering them. Adrien’s entire top half was damp thanks to Alya’s squirt bottle, and he had cream cheese and blueberry remnants decorating his right arm up to the elbow. Their clothing was an apocalypse of pastry strains, mysterious damp spots, _not_ _so mysterious_ damp spots, creamy stains and _creamy stains_. Below it, they were flushed, breathless, and mussed almost beyond repair.

In short, they were a mess.

In the heat of the moment, they had neglected to pay much notice to what each other currently _looked_ like, too obsessed with the possibilities of touching as much as possible. Too focused on each other as themselves, past the mere outward muss.

“Um… we should probably actually get cleaned up…” said Marinette. A hint of regret played along her words. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to keep holding you, but…”

“Yeah…” said Adrien. “We are… kind of a disaster, right now. In terms of clothing.”

“Do… do you want to…” started Marinette, taking a deep breath and burying her face into his sweater, avoiding the cream cheese on his shoulder this time. “M-maybe take a shower with me?”

Adrien found himself briefly unable to breathe, so he simply nodded.

“Can we turn some of the lights off, though?” she asked. “It’s kind of bright and I--”

“It’s fine!” said Adrien, a little too fast. “It’s not easy to, uh… be exposed.” A flash of memory surprised him with a startlingly accurate recall of Marinette topless, returning to him and her bed at her last party. Clad in only her ladybug panties. He blushed and, still holding Marinette, scooted across the cabinets to the light switch, dimming the lights to a third of their brightness.

“Wait--your bathroom lights are on a dimmer?”

“Yeah. Everything’s on a dimmer in my room. My lava lamp is on a dimmer.”

“You’re a dork.” She kissed him one more time. “Now we should probably… uh…”

“Get… cleaned up…”

“Yeah…”

“I don’t… yeah, I don’t want my first time doing…” Adrien struggled to find the right word. “Doing… things with you, more than kissing, to… to be so _sticky_.”

“I-I-I agree,” said Marinette. “C-clean good. Sticky bad.”

“So, yeah.”

“M-maybe a sh-sh-shower.” Marinette internally kicked herself for bringing back her _foutu_ stutter, and then kicked Wine-Marinette for not _suppressing_ said stutter. _Damn you, Wine, you inconstant fiend_.

“I’ve got one of those!” Adrien kicked himself, too, for almost the exact same reasons. “We can… use it.”

“Uh huh…”

They were avoiding the real issue. It’s one thing to suggest nudity to another person, and another to actually lose all of your clothing with them. It’s yet another thing to then take a _shower_ with them.

The first step in denuding yourself is almost always to not be cuddled up to anyone else. With a sigh and a slight droop of the head, she started to slowly, reluctantly disentangle herself from Adrien’s arms. She crossed her arms in front of herself and grabbed the hem of her sweater, preparing to at least give Adrien a little show as she slid herself out of her clothing. Something stopped her.

“W-wait.” Adrien’s hands were on her shoulders. She froze. Did he not want-- “Can I?”

 _Oh_.

 _Oh,_ yes.

Marinette was _extremely_ fine with the idea of Adrien stripping her. After all, she took her own clothes off all the time--might as well mix it up a little bit. Plus, if _he_ got to take off _her_ clothing, then it only made sense that _she_ …

Her neck responded more quickly than her tongue, nodding up and down aggressively. She released her sweater and slid her hands up Adrien’s chest, past the damp spots and cream cheese lumps, to rest on her shoulders.

“...O-only if I can, too.”

This time, Adrien was the one who could only manage to nod. Which he did. With gusto.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to hers with a tenderness that had been rare in their few rushed, frantic makeouts of the past few days. Marinette felt herself trying to melt upwards into his lips, and a tiny eager shiver raced through her body from the backs of her knees to her scalp. The shiver returned with its big brother as soon as she felt Adrien’s hands low on her sides, gently sliding themselves under her sweater. Each centimeter they traveled brought her top farther up, and traced a singling swath of pleasure across her skin even through the fabric of her shirt. His thumb hooked briefly on the underband wings of her bra, reminding her that she had (intentionally) neglected to re-fasten herself after inviting Adrien to the Reign of Terror back when they were kissing on his bed. The underwire rode up, grazing her nipple, and she raised her arms above her head.

With definite reluctance, Adrien pulled away from her lips; even the brief interruption of kissing was unfortunate, but it did allow him to glide the sweater over her head and up her arms, tracing the bare skin of her upper arms with his fingers as he tugged the sweater off. As soon as the sweater cleared her lips, his were back on hers again.

Adrien dropped the sweater to the floor with suddenly-boneless fingers. He’d seen Marinette in short sleeves plenty of times, and seen her in considerably less, as well, but having slid the sweater off of her form _himself_ added an entirely new dimension to the sight. Not that he could see too much, with his eyes closed mid-kiss.

He felt Marinette’s hands slip up his back, taking his shirt with it, until she had a double handful of his clothing held in the center of his back. Between kisses, breathlessly, she asked a gentle “Can I?” and he nodded back into her mouth, unwilling and unable to part from her lips long enough to actually speak.

She pulled the shirt over his head from the back, circling her arms around his as he raised them up to get it off. They both silently cursed the barbarity of physics that demanded that they stop kissing when she pulled the shirt over his head and past his lips, but as soon as the cloth slid onto the floor, their lips were tangling again, skin pressing against skin with only light layers of cloth between them.

It was dim, but not dark, and when Adrien opened his eyes, he found Marinette’s eyes a deep blue, almost glowing, looking into his own. They pulled back from their kiss, still managing to be pressed against each other and the cabinet. Breathing hard. Adrien looked down, his gaze drawn unerringly to Marinette’s shirt, where two bright sharp little peaks poked out, only partially constrained by an unclasped bra.

Adrien’s eyes asked a question that his lips formed. “May I? I-is it okay?”

Marinette nodded again, swaying her hips into him. She had already appeared before him topless once, by accident, but the possibility of intentionally--and _intimately_ \--revealing herself to him was thrilling in a completely different, and intentional, way. She felt her heart and lungs and everything inside her tense with the jubilant anticipation of being so _exposed_ to someone she wanted to see her with a crushing intensity. Her breath came in hot, fast little gasps, bouncing and mixing with Adrien’s own shaky, near-panting, intakes of air.

“J-just leave the bra,” she said. “...at first, at least. I-i-its really c-cute…”

He reached out one hand, cupping the back of her neck and drawing her closer to him, their lips just barely grazing in a teasing kiss that lit every nerve ending in her face on fire. She barely noticed his hand slipping up her back, or the hand on his neck sliding down her back to join its partner.

She did notice--and was briefly shaken out of the kiss-reverie--when she felt her bra re-hook itself, without her input. She pulled away from Adrien’s lips--itself a task--and shook her head, blinking bright blue eyes in confusion.

_Did… what…_

_Did Adrien just_ re-hook _my bra?_

“Wh...what?”

“S-sorry,” he said. “But y-you had it unhooked, and… and if it’s really cute…” He took in a breath, clamping his lower lip between his teeth. “If it’s really cute--a-and it feels really cute--then I sh-should see it when it’s on you the r-right way. Right?” He leaned in, breath kissing along her cheek as he places his lips on her earlobe. “I want to see how you dressed up for me.”

Marinette’s breath became a little halted again. A boy reattaching a bra was rare enough on its own--Adrien Agreste reattaching a bra purely so that he could appreciate the lingerie she had chosen was a _fucking treasure_.

“Is that okay?” he asked.

She nodded, feeling his hair brush against her face as his lips tickled her earlobe. “Bras are cuter when I’m actually wearing them,” she said. “Or when they’re on the f-floor.” _Nice_.

“And it’s one more thing I get to take off of you,” he said, each word escalating Marinette farther into a helpless, sensual quiver. She gasped as his hands left her bra clasp to gather up her shirt and slide it gently over her head, leaving her pigtails to blap softly against her neck as it came off entirely.

Adrien let the shirt drop to the floor as he leaned back from Marinette, resting his hands on her shoulders as he took in the sight of her, wearing only a bra and her leggings, in the subdued light of the third-fanciest bathroom in Paris. Marinette’s heart beat a steady four thousand beats per second as his eyes roamed over her, keenly aware of how exposed she was, and how much _more_ exposed she intended to be.

While Marinette’s heart was beating at breakneck speed, Adrien’s felt like it had stopped entirely. As a model, he had spent more time around partially-dressed women than he’d spent asleep, but Marinette being progressively more and more naked before him was completely, utterly different. He could feel his gaze lingering on her, his eyes unwilling to leave any part he was seeing even to look at the rest of her. Each square centimeter was a blessing that she had given _just to him_ and it meant more than anything he could ever buy.

“You’re so beautiful.” It was a whisper, which made it even more true to her ears. Spoken softly, so that the moment wouldn’t be chased away by the sound. Words that followed a sense of wonder, almost unwilling to shape something so infinite and beautiful into a mere _concept_.

 _That_ is what his words said to her, and he could not have made it any more perfect.

Marinette stopped herself from either melting or exploding and instead held Adrien’s face in her hands, pulling him down for a slow, adoring kiss. It was the best thanks he could receive.

“Adrien…” she whispered, matching his volume. Her whisper, just his name, crystallized everything she felt for him in three tender syllables and floated them to his ears on quiet, thrumming chords. Their lips touched again, and it was all they needed to say.

They stayed like that, partially denuded, still sticky with pastry-leavings. The franticness of every previous kiss was gone, replaced with the white noise of party sounds from the bedroom and the calm eager heartbeats of two people who know they share something incredibly important. They lost themselves in each other, temporarily needing no urgency beyond that which they brought to every kiss.

Eventually, they paused, pulling away the shortest distance possible for Marinette to strip Adrien out of his undershirt. There had always been heat in their kisses, even the slower and more sensual ones--but a shirtless Adrien brought back the _magma_.

Adrien hooked his thumbs in the band of Marinette’s leggings, breathing a question into her lips. “These?”

She nodded, hard, pigtails flipping in the air as she made _extremely certain_ that Adrien knew she wanted him to take off her leggings. “Y-you should see the whole set.”

She ran her hands down from his shoulders, teasing the muscles of his arms, and resting her fingers on his hands, pushing them down. Adrien lowered himself as he rolled her leggings down her hips, breath tracing a hot, aching line down her chin, across her neck, over her collarbones, between her breasts, and down her belly. By the time her leggings were around her ankles, Adrien was kneeling, Marinette’s hands twisted and tangled in his hair, her breath coming in airy gasps from the teasing scourge of Adrien’s lips _so close_ to her skin, in a long dangerous line from her lips to her hips.

His breath was even warmer now, heading up the already smouldering skin right above the little pink bow at the top of her thin, lacy boyshorts. Adrien couldn’t tear his eyes away from the patterns of lace decorating and (barely) concealing her most intimate parts with a sheer, almost insubstantial fabric. Even in the low light, he could make out the short, soft curls of hair under the panties, and the barest hint of her lips as a gentle crease at the crux of her legs. She rocked back and forth, hypnotic, seducing him with every unintentional sway of her hips, a small but prominent patch of dampness drawing his eye like cream draws a cat.

Marinette was almost panting, her hips moving involuntarily, wriggling out of her control, to gently grind through the air towards Adrien’s face. The sight of a beautiful, shirtless, perfect Adrien kneeling in front of her, with her covered in only the sheerest undergarments she’d been able to find, was _entirely_ too much to handle. She resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to tighten her grip in his hair and pull his face closer to her pelvis. She sucked in a trembling breath of air, and couldn’t stop herself from tightening her grip in his hair.

And then he _looked up at her_.

Adrien Agreste, pristine golden Adonis, kneeling in front of her, looking for all the world like a penitent genuflecting at a very intimate shrine, was looking up at her.

“Can I kiss you?” His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

It was entirely unfair to look _that beautiful_ , be in front of her _like that_ , and then ask _that question_. With most of her breath still stuck in her throat, she gasped a soft “yes.”

Without her pulling--this was all him--she felt her hair-twisting fingers tugged along the path he took, gently pushing himself closer and closer until she felt his breath hot and fast against the very lowest part of her belly, right above the pink bow at the rim of her panties.

She began to shake even before he pressed his lips to tender stretch of skin right above the lace. It was lower on her body, closer to her satin divot than she’d ever had anyone before--even the body shot Adrien had taken off of her hadn’t been so _proximate_. She gasped and curled in on herself slightly, tucking her body just a little bit closer around Adrien’s head and lips, like she could draw even more _kiss_ out of what was happening just barely above the hem of her underwear. Her hands made fists in his hair and she pulled him closer, his lips turning a simple kiss more passionate as he felt her clutch his head into her. His hands ran up her legs, tracing the outside of her calves and thighs and coming to rest on her hip bones, gripping them exactly the right amount of firmly as his lips absolutely boiled her skin.

Time was meaningless as his lips lingered on her skin, her whole being shuddering with the pure rush that accompanied Adrien’s kiss so near to her passionate center. Adrien’s lips were a hot brand scalding her to the core, and lightning waves swept through her, radiating out from the imprint of his lips on her skin. That imprint would stay with her for days, if not forever. He pulled away, and it was at the same time a blessed return to normality from a shockingly intense experience, and like a piece of her essence had crumbled off and left with his lips.

Her head was back and she had uncurled herself from her slight arch over Adrien’s head. She closed her eyes as a shaky breath escaped from her and returned in just as severe a shudder. Adrien had stepped back, standing now--carefully and deliberately taking in every inch of her body as she stood, exposed, clad in sheer lingerie that left little, if anything, to the imagination.

The intensity of his stare caressed her like a physical force, tracing the lines of her throat, down the straps and cups of her bra, lingering at her barely-obscured breasts, and tracing the firm planes of her torso down to the swell of her hips and the gentle rise of her mons and the lace and curls covering up the most intimate part she wanted to share with him so badly.

And she was _going to_.

The thought made her shudder as Adrien completed his tour of her. He stepped back to her, catching her arms in his and drawing her to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered into her lips. He kissed her, and it brought a vibrant resonance with it left over from the feeling of his lips low on her body. “I had to see you all together and… you’re just… you’re so beautiful.” His voice faltered, halting from the feeling in his words. He dipped his eyes, the emotions too strong for a moment, before looking back up at her through thick lashes.

“Thank you for letting me s-see you like this,” he said.

She couldn’t speak, so she told him how welcome he was with her lips on his and her hips pressing against his own, feeling how _very_ ready he was to keep going. Her lips were greedy for his own, and she hooked her fingers into his belt loops, drawing him closer to feel how abjectly hard she had made him. His hands traced up and down her back, swimming along the lines of her muscles to feel as much of her as he could--caressing here, squeezing there, resting on the proud curve of her ass.

“C-can I?” she asked, whispering into his lips again, unwilling to draw herself any farther away from from his kisses than necessary. Her thumb traced a circle around the button of his pants, leaving no doubt as to what she was asking about.

He nodded.

Her hands fumbled, trembling in excitement, barely remembering how buttons operated, let alone _pants_ as a complex three-dimensional object. Adrien didn’t rush her or correct her, letting her go at the frantic pace she set for herself, just steadily kissing her, his hands holding the sides of her face. This was _her_ chance to explore him like he had done to her. And she did.

The button finally came undone and with ginger fingers she daintily unzipped his fly, barely gripping the tab of the zipper, resisting the _overwhelming urge_ to slide her hand across the lust-tuber that had grown under it. She slid her hands flat along his skin, under the pants, above the underwear, from the front of his body around to his hips, feeling his lean muscle and the crest of his pelvis. With her lips still locked on his, she scooted the clothing off of him, letting them fall to the floor in a puddle.

She was almost a puddle herself; she had just stripped _Adrien Agreste_ to his underwear.

She had scoured his body with her eyes countless times, from the safety of a few meters away, or from the in-print product of a photoshoot, but she had never _earned_ a look at his body like she had at that moment. She insinuated one finger between his lips and hers--needing to push off to get a full look at his body, but unwilling to stop touching his lips.

Before her, Adrien was wearing only a pair of tight (and slightly… damp) boxer briefs. It was _extremely_ clear that he was happy to see her. His baguette was straining the limits of its breadbox, tugging the waistband out and down in front, revealing a trimmed tangle of blonde hair. Seeing that stopped Marinette’s breath in her throat, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

“Th-that’s because of you,” he said, watching her eyes play up and down his body, drawn always back to the lengthy bulge currently serving as a dowsing rod for Marinette’s spring.

The words were too much. She _sprung_ onto him, kicking the leggings from around her feet as her kissing onslaught pushed them both back against the counter. In her still-buzzed, she was shocked to find that the power of her arousal had given her a considerable amount of coordination. With laser-like focus, she avoided all potential tripping hazards and pressed herself against Adrien up against the marble countertop, hips desperately grinding.

One hand grabbed Adrien’s wrist and guided it to her breast, thirsty for his touch, while another led his other hand to the clasp of her bra.

“I-I want you to see all of me…” she whispered to him. “Please, Adrien…”

And of course he could not resist.

With one hand, he gave her breast a gentle squeeze, drawing out as much fine detail from the swell of her _teton_ and the texture of the lace as he could from electrically alert fingertips, while the other unhooked her brassiere with a speed born of countless quick-change outfit swaps backstage. The straps and wings loosened and she shook her shoulders, freeing herself from from the garment. In the half-light, Adrien let his hand fall away, taking the brassiere with it, and seeing Marinette topless for the second time, and for the first time intentionally.

They were both breathing hard. Still pressed together at the hips, Marinette leaned back, adding more pressure from Adrien’s bulge onto her little danish, and giving Adrien a full view of her, nude from the lacy waistline of her panties up.

Adrien’s jaw had dropped and his hands were frozen in the air, unresponsive to his mental commands. Simply _too much_ , and _too good_ information was invading his brain, channeled throughout his existence by his eyes. The sight of Marinette topless in front of him--and clearly interested in being even more naked--overrode every other neural signal his brain could _possibly_ send. And so his jaw hung slack, and his hands stayed still in the air. The weight of his gaze smothered Marinette’s chest in an embrace warmer than any physical hug could be. Her body, already far from frozen, thawed even more as she showed herself to this beautiful blonde boy.

“D...do you like--”

“Of course I do!” His exclamation was hushed, a voice saved for cathedrals and places steeped in _awe_. “I love them.” He traced his gaze between the two peaks of her _petitons_ , before raising his eyes to hers. He could see her pulse pounding in her throat. “Can I--?” His hands twitched, finishing the question.

“ _Please_.”

His hands glided through the air, onto her body. Already-flushed flesh warmed at the touch of his gentle fingers gliding across sensitive skin. Her nipples--already standing at attention--crisped to dangerously hard peaks under his fingers, begging for him to roll them around between the pads of his thumb and index finger. Adrien was drawn by the gasp she gave, or the tautness of her little nipples, or some other _force_ , and took each brilliant point of her breasts in a soft, gently confident squeeze, not even firm enough to be called a pinch. And even that light grasp drew a moan and a shudder out of her that made her hands dig hard into his hipbones and thrust her pelvis harder onto his. Low in his chest, he felt a tightening _ache_ of need for Marinette, a deeply smouldering coal that had been lit and was stoked by every gentle squeeze of softness under his hand.

They stayed there for long moments, still but for heavy breathing and gentle touches tickling little snowflakes of electric sensation across Marinette’s breasts. Every so often, a soft sound of wonder would escape from Adrien, and Marinette would shudder against him and into his hands as she was temporarily overwhelmed with the pleasure of sharing herself with someone for the first time.

And she was nowhere _near_ finished sharing.

Adrien was pressed up against the counter, so she eased herself off of his _grande paquet_ (itself a herculean task) and switched places with him, twisting her hips against his until she felt her rump press against the warm spot of marble where he had just been. His hands never left her breasts, but his eyes moved to hers. His lips were forming a question--and his hips were adding an insistent pressure to it--when she spoke.

“Adrien…” she said in as soft and steady a voice as she could manage. She slipped one thumb down to her hip, popping the band of her panties and drawing his attention to the one article of clothing she wore. “... _Everything_.”

Blue eyes went wide in the low light and he stuttered out a shaky question about whether it was okay. Her hands, guiding his down to the band of her underwear, gave him an unequivocal _yes_.

Marinette braced herself on her hands and her feet against the cabinet door under the counter, leaning back with her legs together to lift her ass off of the marble, giving Adrien enough space to slide her boyshorts off of her hips and down her legs. As soon as her slack-jawed, boggle-eyed, Adonis-bodied boyfriend slipped them around the curve of her ass and down, she let her bare posterior rest on the chilly stone, watching his eyes as they traced down her body and the long lines of her legs. They lingered, she noticed, on her neatly trimmed patch of dark curls.

She lifted her legs high in the air, still pressing them together, briefly hiding her velveteen cleft from Adrien’s gaze, but giving him a long, lingering view of the underside of her thighs and calves as he slipped the lacy underthings from her body. Her panties cleared the tips of her toes, and she very slowly lowered them to the floor as the lacy garment slipped from Adrien’s suddenly-nerveless fingers.

“O-oh my…” was all he could say.

Marinette let her legs slide open as she leaned forward, making sure he had the most perfect view he could wish for. Her heart pounded in her chest, every part of her buzzing in excitement at finally being totally bare before Adrien--and knowing that she would soon see all of him, too. She felt flushed and pink and tender, her pulse beating hard across the full expanse of her skin. Each beat eroded her already-shaky willpower--the last rational barrier keeping her from throwing Adrien to the ground and straddling him like he was her own personal _Pont des Arts_ , then grinding him like a glorious uncut _diamond_. Of course, such an activity wasn’t _completely_ off the table. At least not long-term.

His eyes traced up and down her, from trembling pigtails to pink-painted toenails, and abso _lutely_ everything in between. He lingered, rapt, for long moments on her breasts and mound, his hands resting on her thighs giving unintentional deep squeezes every time the sight of her made him catch her breath. For her part, Marinette was steaming herself from the inside merely from watching him watch her. She held herself back from tracing the sleek lines of his muscles, all across his arms and chest--such a sight, investigated too closely, might melt her into a puddle flowing right down the sink.

“Thank you so much,” he said, when he got his voice back. “You’re… _foutre_ , you’re so beautiful.”

The gloaming half-light brought out more intensity, more evocative, than any spotlight could have managed. Every shape of her was a treasure and a mystery at once that she was sharing, for the first time, with him, for his first time. Little shadow-fuzzed valleys along her body became the landmarks on a treasure map that he committed to memory, leading him unhesitatingly towards the crux of her legs, which he had just bared in a teasingly slow removal of underwear. And the slick, wet patch at the crotch of that underwear was evidence that she was _exactly_ as invested in this moment as he was. The tent in his boxers couldn’t lie.

Marinette, of course, found her eyes drawn to Adrien’s boxers by the infinite visual gravity of his baguette. Sitting on a marble bathroom counter, stark naked in the romantically-dim light, gazing up at an almost-bare supermodel who had already lost control of the cream in his eclair because of her activities once that night already, and who was currently protruding almost far enough to graze her _minou_ with his boxer-briefed bell-end, she felt her hips trying involuntarily to scoot themselves towards him, eager to grind against that glorious pepper.

He had called her beautiful and her heart seemed to swell and strain against her ribs, and she couldn’t find words around the shallow, eager breaths she was almost-panting. He had called her beautiful, and she _knew_ she was because of that, more than she had known it to be true moments ago. He had called her beautiful, and coming from the most beautiful young man in Paris, nothing could have reached into her chest and laid a gentle finger on her pulsing soul like those few words.

Words were increasingly inadequate to express what what she felt, but some were still needed. She tilted her chin up, inviting his lips onto hers, as she slid hands down his cheeks to his throat to his collarbones to his chest as he pressed his lips, and his hands and his _everything_ into her, barely separated by a film of cloth.

“I want to see…” she said in gasps between kisses, “... how beautiful every part of you is.”

She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, feeling the “yes” he breathed into his lips suffuse her whole being. She slid off of the counter, dipping her body and bending her knees, arms stiff, slipping his last piece of clothing off of him as she ran her hands down the long muscles of his thighs. She held his gaze as she slowly dropped lower in front of him, feeling a rocketing shock of trembling force crash into her as his baguette finally burst from the oven, springing up and out and slapping onto her belly. His eyes were wide and he was bracing himself with one hand on the counter, the other cradling the back of her head as they both sucked in a devastatingly sudden gasp at the sudden feeling of bare skin on bare boner. This time, _completely_ intentional, and _completely_ desired.

His underwear forgotten in a pool around his ankles, she retraced her hands’ path back up his thighs, every centimeter shaking him into a a more and more quivery blancmange manikin. She hadn’t even _glanced_ at his bare flesh yet, eyes still latched onto his own, but the weight of her _interest_ in that part of him had him standing at attention; ready, eager, infinitely _wanting_ attention, pressed gently into the skin of her belly. She slowly straightened herself out of her boxers-removing crouch, the crown of his regal scepter gracing a line down her body that left a quaking echo where it had traced along her skin. Her eyes descended down from his face to his chest to lower on his body as she straightened her legs, until she stood before him, hands on his hips.

A firm pressure from his baton dimpled the skin low on her belly, right above the line of her soft black curls, exactly where he had kissed her after taking off her leggings. Her eyes finally joined that perfect body part she had fantasized so intensely about for so long, and her hands tightened on his hips (and his hands tightened on the counter) as she finally _saw_ it.

Words were barely adequate.

“Adrien…” she breathed. “It’s… it’s so--”

* * *

“...So _beautiful_!” said Rose. “Can I show everyone?”

“Uh…” said Nathanael, who had retired to a corner with Rose to shower her the goods. “I… I guess so.”

“Juleka! Everyone! You need to see this! Come see Nathanael’s baguette! It’s so nice!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my tumblrinos who suggested lingerie! Here's what I'm imagining Marinette to be wearing.
> 
> Her bra and panty set is kind of like this: http://www.agentprovocateur.com/us_en/cate-brief-nude
> 
> but with the panties in a boyshort cut like this: https://www.victoriassecret.com/bras/body-by-victoria-styles/the-crochet-lace-sexy-shortie-body-by-victoria?ProductID=310263&CatalogueType=OLS&search=true
> 
> and little pink bows as accents, with most of the material in a greyish-violet, kind of like the "Pebble Violet" of that Victoria's Secret.
> 
> Also thank you to everyone who voted in my sooner-or-longer straw poll! I have SO much more I want to write, but I wound up getting this chapter to about 10K and landing on what I hope is a charmingly dumb droll joke.
> 
> Also also: How could I forget? I devote Marinette's awkward nudity in this chapter to Kwamikwami.
> 
> I love and admire you all! Thank you for reading!


	26. In Which We Establish The Directory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien and Marinette continue their French Revolution metaphor. Nathanael impresses everyone. There are some unintended consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SMUT WARNING**  
> **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEFINITELY EXPLICIT CONTENT**  
> **THE EXPLICIT CONTENT IS BRACKETED BY DOUBLE LINE BREAKS SO YOU CAN SKIP IT IF YOU WANT**  
> **SMUT WARNING OVER**
> 
> Given the events of last chapter, I think we all know where this is going.

* * *

 

_A firm pressure from his baton dimpled the skin low on her belly, right above the line of her soft black curls, exactly where he had kissed her after taking off her leggings. Her eyes finally joined that perfect body part she had fantasized so intensely about for so long, and her hands tightened on his hips (and his hands tightened on the counter) as she finally saw it._

_Words were barely adequate._

_“Adrien…” she breathed. “It’s… it’s so--”_

_— — —_

_“...So_ beautiful _!” said Rose. “Can I show everyone?”_

_“Uh…” said Nathanael, who had retired to a corner with Rose to shower her the goods. “I… I guess so.”_

_“Juleka! Everyone! You need to see this! Come see Nathanael’s baguette! It’s so nice!”_

 

* * *

 

“Can I show everyone?”

It had been something of a dramatic night for Nathanael. He had never been anywhere close to the social elite of the lycee or the college, so Alya’s invitation to Adrien’s party had caught him somewhat by surprise. An unassuming petite boy (even with bright red warning coloration) camouflaging himself behind the largest classmate (as well as largest dangler) in the school didn’t exactly attract attention, as a matter of intent. The only times he’d really come to the forefront of everyone’s awareness were when he was shrieking in Horrificator’s clutches, when he had been caught sketching Chloe’s jewelry, and when his crush on Marinette had been revealed in the least comfortable way possible. He didn’t remember his time under the influence of the akuma, but he figured it wasn’t a great memory for anyone.

And yet, he had been invought. It was way less dramatic than he had anticipated the moment being–his first big party invite had been a simple text message from Alya stating “Come to Adrien’s on Saturday boyeee, bring ya sketch book.” That had been… kind of a mystery. And now he was drinking heavily, he’d gotten everyone to take off clothes, and a young blonde lady was giving him bright blue blinking eyes with delightful regularity. Her girlfriend had taken a body shot off of him, and he’d taken one off of Rose. She’d cuddled up on him as he was having an awkward conversation with Alix about their pastry adventures from last week–the phrase “I just want to try something out, Nath” forever associated with eclair erotica to him now–and now she had made quite a bold suggestion related to his pink pleasure-pestle.

In short, he was starting to think that Rose might have a thing for artists. At least one artist.

He adjusted himself to display the wares more prominently. Rose’s requests–and the generalized sexual tension of the entire room–had left him in a state of more-or-less permanent tumescence. And her most recent suggestion had only accelerated that particular hardening. He finally got around to answering her.

“Uh… I… I guess so,” he said, feeling a very localized twitch along his length at the thought of everyone observing his masterpiece.

Rose gave him a sweet, almost shy, smile and a few blinks from under thick eyelashes. Her hand caressed him lightly from his collarbone to his chest as she called back to the rest of the party: “Juleka! Everyone! You need to see this! Come see Nathanael’s baguette! It’s so nice!”

 

* * *

 

“I… I just… wow.” Alya, never at a loss for words, was at a loss for words.

“Dude. Your dick. It’s just… I can’t even.” Kim shook his head, eyes wide and blinking, dumbfounded. “I can’t compete.” A difficult admission for a boy who would compete over _anything_.

“Isn’t it great?” asked Alix, the only non-Nathanael person who had heretofore experienced the majesty of Nathanael’s tumescent flesh-stylus. She’d wrapped up her DDFR game with Kim for the siren song of Nathanael’s dingus, and she couldn’t resist some commentary. “It’s _real_ fun to grab. Isn’t it, Nath?”

“Uhhh…” said Nathanael, sporting the most awkward and embarrassed boner in Paris, potentially in the entire Metropole. He was braced in a corner, fly unzipped, _objet d’art_ displayed, with a crowd of nine of his classmates surrounding him. For a shy boy, it was not an environment conducive to rapid, or thorough answers; Alix’s question had a very obvious answer (“yes”), which had totally eluded him. Instead, he said “Huh?”

“Never mind all that, bro, show us the whole thing. You only got your pepper peeking out here,” said Nino. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“Yeah! Show us the whole thing! Danglers and all! Please?” asked Mylene. She was goggling her eyes at the pristine nether-chisel displayed before her.

“Oh gosh…” said Nathanael, unused to this level of attention. The weight of eighteen eyes on his love-saber was both terrifying and exciting in a way he had never experienced. It was proving to be _way_ nicer than he had anticipated, and his personal porn crayon was ably demonstrating how much he was actually an exhibitionist. _So much for the stereotype of artists being voyeurs…_

Nathanael took a deep breath and revealed a bit more of himself. He unbuckled his belt and undid the button of his fly, shuffling his pants and boxers down low on his hips, exposing himself from his bright red happy trail to his _porte-monnaie_. His audience breathed in a collective gasp.

Juleka was the first to speak. “It’s even more beautiful than before.” Her jaw hung slack, mouth slightly open, as she gazed at his equipment.

“It’s just… my word, it has the most perfect geometry of any penis I’ve ever seen… any I’ve ever _heard of_.” Max produced a handkerchief, dabbing his suddenly-sweaty brow. “Is… did it get warm in here?”

“Oh wow! It’s the perfect size!” Rose had bent over, bracing her arms on her knees, to get a closer look at Nathanael’s twitching love-baton.

“You could put it anywhere!” added Mylene. “Easy as pie!”

“You’re damn right,” said Alix. “That’s the plan.”

“Wow,” said Ivan, imagining the possibilities of a dingus of reasonable proportions. “You could… and you wouldn’t have to…”

“Damn, and look at how the pubes frame the whole kit ‘n’ kaboodle, it’s like an elegant picture frame.” Nino squatted down, looking at it head on. “I think there’s some Golden Ratio stuff going on in here? I’m not sure.”

“Guys, come on, do you really--” said Nathanael, before he was cut off.

“Shh. Dude.” Kim stepped forward, placing a finger on Nathanael’s lips. “I have made a study of dicks. I have combed the darkest recesses of the internet for the most perfect dicks that exist. That _can_ exist. Look me in the eyes. Your dick is flawless.”

“O-oh…” Never particularly talkative, Nathanael was extra-quiet now. He hadn’t expected _anyone_ to inspect his loaf tonight, let alone _everyone_ . And he had _definitely_ not imagined that he somehow had the Charlemagne of boners. But he had _certainly_ united France on one topic in particular. What do you even say when pretty much every one of your peers compliments you on your wedding tackle?

What do you say when they start _applauding_?

What do you do when almost all of your classmates turn your dick-expose into the last episode of Neon Genesis Evangelion?

Unable to come up with a good response, Nathanael settled for staying silent and nursing the most public boner of his life.

“I kinda want to suck it.”

All eyes were suddenly on Rose. She blushed, looking around at her classmates.

“What!? We were all thinking it!”

“I… kinda want to, too,” said Juleka.

“Uh, same,” said Kim.

“Agreed,” said Max.

“I wouldn’t even make him dress like a robot.” That was Nino, of course.

“Uhhhh…” said Nathanael, uncertain how to handle this. Who all wanted suck his dick? Was it _everyone_?

“Yeah can we form a line or something?” asked Alya. A general chorus of agreement followed her words. Apparently, it _was_ everyone.

It was a little much to consider.

“Heck and damn, that is a real good wanger, dude,” said Nino. “I think I need to write a poem about it.”

“Now there’s an idea,” said Alya. “What if--”

“We should all write a poem about how beautiful Nathanael’s baguette is!” said Rose, clapping her hands. “Think how sweet that would be! And we could all read them to each other, and to Nathanael’s dick!”

“And whoever writes the best one gets to suck it,” said Alix. “I mean, if that’s okay with Nathanael.”

She turned to the shy little artist, whose face now matched his hair in terms of redness. “You’d let the winner go down on you, right Nath?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes with a smirk. “Whoever it is?”

“That… sounds… niiiiiiice…” Nathanael’s response slurred itself out of his mouth as he slowly melted down the wall he was leaning against. It was a _very_ nice idea. Nice enough that while he fainted, his entire body was a floppy red puddle, except for one very specific part.

“Alright,” said Alya, taking charge. “Ivan, get him up on the bed so he doesn’t get a cramp laying on the floor. Rose, drape his masterpiece with something so he’s not flashing the goods while he’s all fainted.” As they scampered to do as she asked, she akimboed one arm onto her hip, using the other to point at each of her classmates in turn. “And _no peeking_ . Don’t be looking at Nathanael’s tentpole until he’s awake and tells you it’s okay.” She shook her head. “We all know it’s tempting. But use that temptation to write a damn poem. When he wakes up, we’re gonna _serenade_ this little tomato for privilege of gargling his love piston.”

She clapped her hands, giving one final command.

“Now split up! It’s time to write some poetry!”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

They hadn’t moved for long moments, but both Marinette and Adrien were breathing hard, hearts pounding. Adrien’s baguette was pressing into Marinette under her navel, and her hands were clenched firmly onto his hips. Only those parts were touching as their eyes layered stroke after stroke on each other’s forms, savoring their first full seconds of being completely _naked_ with each other.

It was breathtaking.

Their eyes skimmed across each other. Marinette found herself mapping the lean muscles of Adrien’s chest and arms and abdomen, her gaze always drawn farther down to that fascinating appendage that was just barely touching her, resting lightly on the flesh above her mons, not quite gracing her curls with its touch. Adrien was captivated by Marinette’s tautness, both of build and nip-nib, and couldn’t resist the sight of his own personal hog pressing into her belly. Her skin felt _extremely_ decadent, and every tiniest movement of her body against him sent gasping shudders up his spine. Adrien spend a quiet moment in thanks that he’d already embarrassed himself down the length of his trousers--otherwise he would almost _definitely_ be glazing his entire girlfriend from _tetons_ to _foufoune_.

“Marinette…” he whispered, unclenching his hand from the countertop to bring is sliding gently up her arm. He felt goosebumps spring to attention wherever his fingertips touched her skin.

She lifted her chin, raising her lips to him as her hands traced their way higher up his sides, each inch bringing him to a more and more quivery plateau. He bent his head down to her, his hand finally making its way to rest lightly against the back of her neck.

  
Their lips were millimeters apart when a small glob of custard dripped from Adrien’s hair onto his erection with a quietly resounding “plop.”

They both took a moment to blink at each other, looking down at Adrien’s recently-re-creamed eclair.

It was too much. Custard on the dick; creme fraiche in the hair; squirt-bottle spray everywhere; pastry-ruined clothes in a heap behind them. They were a mess. Helpless to stop themselves, they exploded into giggles.

Marinette covered her mouth with a hand, and Adrien flipped his head back, trying to suppress laughter, and succeeding only in casting small lumps of sticky cream onto the mirror. They wracked themselves with barely-hidden chortles, curling in on themselves and pressing their foreheads together, silent giggles sending very different quivers through their bodies.

They shared a sigh, holding each other with an intense feeling of companionship more than desire, for the moment.

  
“So, uh…” said Marinette. “Should… should we take that shower?”

“Yeah we’re… kinda still a mess.” He lifted a clump of his hair, dislodging a chunk of cream cheese that had insinuated itself in between blonde strands. It fell with a bloop onto Marinette’s left breast, rolling down to balance on her nipple.

  
Adrien sucked in a quick breath.

“... How about we help each other get cleaned up?” he asked. His eyes met Marinette’s with a deliberate intensity, then slid down to her chest, inviting her to follow his gaze. It lingered on the creamy blob perched on her nipple.

“D-definitely,” she whispered, twisting her fingers in his hair and bringing his face down to her bust. His breath steamed a line of throbbing tingles down her throat and chest. When she felt his lips wrap themselves around the peak of her _tetine_ , removing the itinerant cream cheese, she gasped at the thousand little lightning bolts the touch sent swarming across the entire front half of her body. Lower on her, she felt a very firm part of Adrien pulse gently into her.

She was unable resist savoring the pure sensation of Adrien’s lips on her--wherever they were at any given time--but as soon as his lips left her nipple with a soft little pop, she hauled his face upwards and crushed his lips against her own. His arms circled around her waist, and she removed one hand from his hair to wrap under his arm and across his back, pulling him closer to her. As he felt her arm draw him closer, Adrien strengthened his hold on her waist, pressing them closer together. The motion slid his pepper upwards, pressed between their bodies, a pulsing heat sending waves of sensation through him at every centimeter of her skin touching him, and wracking Marinette’s body with tiny tightening gasps of pleasure at the feeling of so much _Adrien_ touching so much _her_.

Mid-makeout, bodies still pressed as closely as they could be to each other, they scooted centimeter by centimeter down the marble countertop of Adrien’s bathroom. Bit by bit they scooched closer to the shower, taking the occasional pause to gasp breathless little words into each other’s lips as the sensations of their bodies on each other became suddenly overwhelming. After an age, they closed the glass door to the shower room behind them.

Marinette dragged Adrien by the hips, stepping lightly backwards until she felt her _culette_ press against the warm black marble of the wall. Adrien’s cock was an insistent pressure grinding into her, and she pulled him into her just as hard.

With one hand, Adrien twisted the handle and a rush of already-hot water cascaded around them. Never before had Marinette ever appreciated Adrien’s wealth more than the unbridled _luxury_ of a shower that drew from a reservoir of already-heated water.

And then they were frantic again, sliding their hands across each other’s bodies, kissing hungrily, trying to feel as much Adrien on as much Marinette as possible. Adrien’s length slid back and forth between the slick skin of their bellies, sending threateningly pleasurable shots of sensation through each of them. Marinette pushed off of the wall, twisting her hips to swap places with Adrien. In the midst of her ministrations, while their bodies had temporarily stopped mashing against each other, Adrien’s minute hand migrated from high noon to 6 o’clock. Slipped away from her belly, it nestled comfortably between Marinette’s legs, teasing her with its firmness _right there_ on her personal _bijou_ -bevel. She could feel the full length of him sliding gently back and forth across her lips, bringing a delightful direct coil of warmth to sudden life inside her.

Aaaaaand that was potentially a problem.

She felt herself grinding onto him even more now that he was against the wall and the length of his baguette was pressed against her cherry croustade, little gasps escaping her only to be muffled by his collarbone between her lips. For his part, he had gotten very still, his hands holding her hips with a grip as firm as another body part of his. He was breathing hard, heavy panting breaths echoing in her ears, forehead braced against the tiles. The sound of the water pouring over them did nothing to mask how ragged and desperate their breathing was.

“Adrien…”

He sucked in a breath, sliding his hand up her side to rest on her breast. Adrien pulled his head back from the tiles, wide green eyes meeting hers as he bent in for a kiss.

“Fuck, Marinette…” Their lips met with a bright warm rush, sensation ricocheting back and forth from their lips and parts much lower. It was an intense experience, on more levels than either of them had felt before.

“I… I hate to say this…” she started. “But…”

“It’s fine, Marinette,” said Adrien, pulling back from her. “Is--did--are--are you okay?” He slipped his hand off of her breast with noticeable reluctance, but plenty of speed. Making sure not to grind himself against her, he cocked his hips back, so that her _petite minou_ was less… well, cocked.

_We aren’t anywhere near penetration, but at least I can take the pressure off of_ \--

His thought was cut off as Marinette shifted her own hips, pressing harder onto the middle of his snake. It was the least dangerous part of the snake, after all--it’s fine. Adrien had _no_ problem if Marinette wanted to slide herself across the back of his baguette. But what was she worried about?

“What’s wrong?”

  
“Nothing’s wrong! Really! It’s… this… this is… wow.” She curled herself into his chest, letting the shower rinse her as she tucked her face into his shoulder. To punctuate the sentiment, she squeezed her thighs together more tightly, earning a soft little gasp from Adrien as he felt his dangler get compressed a bit more firmly. “I’ve… I’ve really wanted this.”

“O-oh! Good! Me too yes! I--Yeah! Good…”

“But it’s just…”

“It’s fine Marinette, whatever it is.”

“We… can’t have sex tonight.”

_…_

_… Was that what she’d been worried about?_

Adrien ran his hands through Marinette’s hair, untying her pigtails and slipping the bands around his wrists. He kissed her, finger-brushing her hair as his lips met hers. When he pulled away, he rested his hand on her cheek.

“That’s completely fine, Marinette,” he said, whispering to her. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, even--”

“Oh I want to.”

“O-oh… g-good!” Between Marinette’s thighs, his pepper stiffened from an 8 to about a 12 on the Mohs hardness scale. “Me too! Definitely. But… yeah. Not now.”

“Not right yet.”

“I mean, you can’t even see the Eiffel Tower from here, and there aren’t any candles or rose petals and--”

“You’re the one.”

“What?”

“UM--” said Marinette. A view of the Eiffel Tower? Candles? Rose petals? Adrien’s idea of a good first time to have sex was sounding _very similar_ to her own. “You’re--I’d--can it be me? I--will you be my first? When… when we decide to…”

He lifted her chin, bringing her eyes up to his, gazing into them for a long, warm moment. They closed their eyes, together, and his lips meeting hers were the softest and most gentle and most beautiful thing she’d ever felt. He pulled away just as gently.

“Of course, Marinette. You’re incredible.”

They kissed again, lips tender and gentle at first as they were caressed by the flow of the shower and by each other. But Marinette’s request was still there, hanging in the air with the steam, driving their kiss to be deeper, fuller, more intense. Marinette’s arms wrapped around the back of Adrien’s neck, drawing him closer as she pressed him into the wall, and his hands circled her waist, feeling the crests of her hipbones and the smooth, firm muscles of her body.

After all, they couldn’t have sex--or, knowing her feelings, make love--tonight… but Alya and Nino’s lessons had demonstrated that there were _plenty_ of other things to do.

Marinette squeezed her thighs tighter again, stroking Adrien’s length with her legs and her cleft as she rocked back and forth on him. She rolled her body onto his, sliding water-slick breasts across his chest and skimming her tongue across his lips. He responded in kind, lowering his hands to take firm handfuls of her _culette_ , squeezing her ass and pushing her _bijou_ more firmly onto the back of his shaft. In a surprising--for both of them--show of boldness, he seized Marinette’s lower lip in his teeth, gently biting it and earning a soft, sultry moan for his troubles as he nibbled the sensitive flesh.

“Adrien…” she breathed into him. “I want t-to touch you.”

“ _Please_ ,” he begged. “Can I touch you too?”

“Ohmygoshyesplease,” she said, in a calm and rational manner, and not overwhelmed with lust and affection at all.

The hardest thing (heh) was summoning the willpower to pull their bodies far enough away from each other to slip their hands between.

Marinette’s hand reached Adrien’s pertinent bits first, wrapping gently around the shaft and relocating it from between her thighs (which was a shame) into the warm spray of the shower. She backed up, leaving Adrien leaning against the wall, shifting her grip on him and giving a few experimental tugs. She could feel him trembling, little vibrations tripping up his shaft to tickle the tips of her fingers.

At the same time, Adrien’s hand traced itself down her body, outlining the the curves of her throat, the line of her collarbone, the swell of her breast, the supple muscles of her abdomen, and the crest of her hip. His fingers gently raked between strands of her pubic hair, lightly brushing the shower-wet curls to float just above where her lips parted.

Finally, _finally_ , she had her hands on Adrien-- _all over_ Adrien--and his hands were on her, and it was everything she could have hoped. A ragged sigh and moan escaped her as Adrien’s fingers mapped a path from her throat to her velveteen cleft, and she tilted her hips into him, letting him know just how fine it was for him to touch her. One of his fingers rested perfectly in the cleft of her lips, just barely grazing the more sensitive flesh within.

“Mmmm, Adrien, _please_ …”

And that “please” squeezed his heart in his chest and sighed out the last breath from her lungs and they started, slowly, awkwardly, to explore.

Adrien started slowly, keenly aware of Alya’s warnings about the tenderness of lady-bits. The last thing he wanted was to mess anything up, now that he was so sure that Marinette wanted him. So he took his time, very gently tracing the cleft of her lips, feeling a slick, wet heat inside her that was different and _much_ more interesting than the water showering over them. He felt each tiny variation of her flesh, every ridge of his fingerprint heightened to a dazzling instrument of sensation, every millimeter feeling a beautiful something that no danish--no bakeryfull of danishes--could have prepared him for. He immortalized each part as its own entity to love. His fingers ran gently over the subtle button of her _bijou_ , and she shuddered and collapsed gently onto him, her breasts a soft, firm pressure against his skin. He was _desperate_ to slide his fingers inside her, to grind the pad of his thumb against her little pink pearl, but he would _not_ be fucking this up. And so he tried to commit every single feature of her intimate parts to memory. Every sensation on his fingertips left him enraptured.

But of course, it was _very_ hard to concentrate on anything his fingers were telling him when her hand stroking up and down his shaft was sending such powerful wrecking waves of pleasure up and down his body. She was holding him overhand like the world’s most aptly-named _joystick_ , and slowly stroking up and down his shaft, little quivers from how he was touching her making their way down her arm to tease him in turn. It was _nothing_ like when he did it himself--an entirely different situation, more passion-fraught and electrifying, bringing him to a much fuller awareness of how _much_ his body could ever feel. He thanked Marinette silently for her foresight in pushing him up against the wall, because he would _definitely_ be crumpling into a heap if he couldn’t lean against the tiles.

And of course, right at that moment, Marinette crumpled into him. Skin pressed on skin as she temporarily lost control of her knees, and trembled herself into his chest, pressing herself into him with a mutual gasp.

_Whoops_ , she thought. … _This could be working better_.

She straightened herself slightly--still enjoying the feeling of Adrien’s hardest available flesh pressing into her hand and belly--and raised her lips to kiss him, trying to dull the lightning bolts of shimmery feeling that jolted from her satin divot all through her body, at least dull them enough to function. If she had concentrated on those overwhelming blasts, she wouldn’t _nearly_ be able to come up with a better idea for stabilizing herself mid-hand-stuff-doing.

Adrien moaned into her lips with a sound and a vibration she found _extremely_ gratifying, and his fingers curled into her very slightly, adding just a little more pressure onto her favorite spot. He was doing surprisingly well for his first foray into fingering follies. She was reminded again: Alya was the best friend anyone could hope for.

She moaned back into him, returning the sound she’d pulled out of him, all the while formulating a plan. She whispered it to him, lip to lip.

“Adrien… I’m gonna--”

“Oh wow! Already?”

“What? Oh! No, n-not yet… I just, I need to change positions.”

“OH! Oh! That’s--yeah! Of course!”

Keeping his fingers on her the whole time, and making sure not to release his cock from her hand, she turned herself around, backing into Adrien’s chest. They wound up almost spooning upright, mirroring their first little tryst from her party a week before. She had wrapped his right arm around around her, keeping his fingers touching her sensitive parts; her left hand held his shaft so that it now nestled against her left hip. Her right hand traced along his own, resting on top of the back of his hand to guide him as he explored her.

“Like this,” she said, moving his hand in little circles and spirals and patterns on her. She sucked in a breath as he got the idea, taking cues from how she was moving his hand, and tightened her grip on his personal love-tuber. But he still had a hand free.

“My _tetons_ , too…” His free hand obliged her, cupping around her breast and gently, deliberately, teasing across the nipple. As he squeezed her, rolling her _tetine_ between a finger and thumb, she squeezed him back in one-two-three quick pulses, each matches to her grinding her _culette_ more firmly onto his hip. The feeling was _absurdly_ decadent.

Marinette felt Adrien pull her closer, the hand on her breast sending warm pulses of pleasure through her as his other provided a sharp, bright counterpoint with every stroke she guided him into passing across and around her bijou. His fingers alone had felt truly lovely, but with her hand teaching his exactly how she liked it, using his fingertips as her own personal toy, she was feeling _glorious_. On the side, squeezed snugly between her thigh and hand, his cock was gently thrusting back and forth in time with her movements. Shaky, heavy breath rushed past her ear.

They kept touching, and holding, and stroking, and squeezing, and each of Marinette’s movements sent rocketing spirals of pleasure through Adrien, and each of his movements warmed and trembled a deep, private place low in her chest.

The two of them started almost nimbly, focused on how best to _feel_ each other, while not being overcome by the feelings they received in turn. As their hands stopped adventuring and started gaining confidence from the little gasps and moans of feedback, they became less nimble, but more _alive_. A passionate shuddering ricocheted between them, shaking their sensitive stroking cycles of pleasure into a billion little bits.

They were losing control, but gaining waves of bliss from each other that jellified their knees and forced them to slump, shaky, against the wall tiles. Marinette’s hand danced and groped along the entire Champs of his Elysees, flattening her palm against curly blonde hair at the bottom of each stroke, then gliding up and over his bucking and eager head. Her other hand guided his deeper inside her, inviting him to the most intimate parts she had ever shared. He curled his finger inside her, sketching simple shaky patterns on her slick, hot walls.

In between shaky, stuttering gasps, she turned her head looking into his eyes.

“Tell me when you’re about to…” she said.

He nodded. “A-and--ahhhhh… Tell me if you're going to--”

“Mmmm,” she said, nodding back, tossing her head back into the crook of his neck, inviting his lips to play along her throat. He obliged, with considerably more gasping and moaning than his first kisses that night.

Marinette’s hand on his was crushingly pleasurable, and the feeling of her lips opening for him and taking his fingers inside was _amazing_. He could almost feel her heartbeat, and another more fundamental pulse that timed itself with the rocking of her hips and gasping of her breath. All sensed from the tip of his finger inside her.

For Adrien, it was too many sensations all at once. Marinette’s sleek, firm body pressed up against him; his fingers sliding over and around and into her tender parts as she rocked back and forth; the flow of the shower a warm massage on them both; her hand squeezing and stroking his shaft with nimble fingers; the swaying motion of her hip against the side of his cock a tantalizingly soft counterpoint to the more precise pressure of her palm and digits.

“M-Marinette, I-I’m…”

“Fuck, _yes_ ,” she said. “Please…”

Helpless to stop himself, he let a soft moan crescendo and crest as his climax started. Marinette twisted herself around to face him almost straight-on, her right hand abandoning Adrien’s to join her left on his shaft. She pressed a quick kiss into his lips, sliding his pole between her hands and body, before pulling back and staring down at the cock in her hands.

Adrien was plastered against the wall, his arms the only thing keeping him upright, unsure whether to stare at what Marinette’s hands were doing to him or to close his eyes to better appreciate the crashes of ecstasy she was ripping out of him.

He peaked, and both of them gasped.

Marinette had angled her body to block the flow from the shower head, so they both watched, wide-eyed with slack mouths, as Adrien came in impressively thick strands, rocking quaking body throwing off his aim, splashing onto Marinette in a dozen places and sticking lightly to the wet skin of her breasts and chest and belly. Shot after shot slapped against her, dripping in ropy globs down her thighs and into her _buisson_.

Absentmindedly, she had kept up her stroking as she watched him finish onto her body, leaving Adrien a quivering, hypersensitive mess, with one particular bit still proud and firm in her hands. She looked up, trying to meet his eyes, but found that he was writhing in that unique ecstatic torture a gentleman gets when you shake the can, but no matter how hard you press it’s still out of whipped cream. She hadn't noticed until then the stuttering staccato sounds helplessly spilling from his lips. Or the unstable metronome of his body vibrating along seventy different wavelengths.

... _Uh, whoops?_ she thought to herself, unsure whether that was good, or not, and how good, or not. She let her hands stop rolling his pin and slid her fingers up his chest to rest on his cheeks.

“A-Adrien?” she asked. “Was that alright?”

He steadied himself against the wall, knees finally solidifying enough to support his own weight, and reached out to Marinette. While earlier on he had tended to be the recipient (however eager) of Marinette’s extremely passionate advances, this time his hungry initial passion that more than matched her own and dragged hers howling along in its path. One hand swooped around her back, pulling her close, while the other combed itself upward through her hair, drawing her lips to his. He kissed her like he’d cum out every bit of himself that wasn't obsessed with her, which perhaps he had. She kissed him back, reflecting every grinding surge of passion she felt from his lips and body against her--in particular the sticky pokey bit sandwiched between their bellies--and smiled into his kisses as she felt his heavy, ragged breaths caress her cheek.

Oh, yes. She had done _just_ fine.

Adrien recovered slowly, the kisses definitely helping, taking long sweet moments to steady quakey legs and trembly hands and rushy breath. Marinette’s body pressed against him brought him _back_ to reality this time, rather than rocketing him into the handjobosphere. She was soft and firm and hot and slick and _there_ and since she was there, so was he.

When he had fully arrived back at himself, he had only one question.

“Can I--can I do that for you?”

In his arms, he felt a subtle, quick little dip, like she very briefly had dough for bones. Her breath caught in her throat, and she raised very large, very blue, very hungry eyes to him as she answered.

“ _Please_.”

While Adrien took a moment to quit orbiting himself and remember how to stand unaided, Marinette soaped and rinsed herself off. As delightful as watching Adrien finish onto her belly had been, no one would benefit from itinerant cum going wherever it pleased. There weren’t any pajama pants involved, but there were plenty of ways that unexpected cum could make itself a nuisance regardless.

When she finished, she beckoned him to her, supporting herself against the wall. And he joined her, taking the opportunity to be the one pressing her against the tiles this time. He reached his left hand up to hold her cheek as he kissed her, and the feeling of his body-- _all_ of it--lined up with every part of hers dragged her stomach up her spine a few notches, blasting little quivery jets through her with every bump.

Her hands guided his across her body, leading one down, down, down ‘til it tangled in her trimmed little patch of hair and dragged a stuttery moan from her lips. That wouldn’t be enough, though. Marinette’s personal self-satisfaction routine was normally focused on polishing the bijou more than fingering, but the sensation of Adrien being _inside her_ \--no matter what part--was too thrilling to deny. She led his fingers down further, dipping low and curling his digits _up_ and _in_.

Adrien’s body was shielding them both from the spray of the shower; this wetness was all hers.

She pushed his lips away from hers--temporarily--with one finger. She blinked up at him, subconsciously swaying her hips into his hand as she did so.

“I-I’m going to play w-with my bijou, and I want you inside me.” She could feel his cock pressed against her thigh. It had barely gone down after his orgasm, and now returned eagerly to full firmness, throbbing against her leg _._ “Please… I need to feel you touch me.”

She slipped her fingers in between her mound and his palm and felt him do exactly what she’d asked. His lips kissed little sparkling patterns along her cheek and ear and the line of her jaw and the curve of her throat, and lower down he spread her lips and started gently, sweetly, carefully sliding inside her.

Marinette was no stranger to playing with herself. She’d been popping off five _petites morts_ a day for years, and had become quite familiar with her own touch. This time was different.

Her fingers buzzed a high keening tone through her body as she reacquainted herself with her little pink pearl, while Adrien’s fingers pulsed a deeper, insistent baritone that shook her with a quiet, reverberating rhythm that quivered her knees to pudding and stabbed lances of pleasure through the core of her body and being. The two notes chimed in her, harmonizing into a chord that felt in that moment more sublime than any solo tune. She rang with it.

Swift tender kisses stapled her to the wall, and she floated and slumped boneless across Adrien’s arm when he looped it around the small of her back. Her free hand clutched desperately and randomly from his shoulder to his hip, and her feet must have still been on the floor, because her knees were shaking but she didn’t slide down the wall and kept catching herself half-collapsing before she was even _close_ to done riding Adrien’s fingers and her own. She chimed; she tolled; she pealed.

She was a symphony.

She was partway lost in a self-obliterating crescendo on Adrien’s fingers and her own when she became, quite without warning, a cacophony.

“Hey you two! Finish up, there’s a dick I gotta suck.”

Kim, of course.

He had barged in without knocking--or without any knock that they were capable of hearing--and had slid open the glass doors to the bathing area unnoticed. In the shaking foothills of a sublime and mountainous orgasm, Marinette found herself tumbling, rather than ascending. Kim was worse for that particular pleasurable summit than any avalanche could be.

Adrien had instinctively moved to cover more of Marinette’s body with his own--quite a delightful little surprise, even if it couldn’t get her back up the north face of her sensual Matterhorn--ensuring that Kim didn’t get more of a peek at her than he had already. For Kim, of course, seeing Adrien’s posterior was a nice little treat of its own. But the point was preventing unintentional Marinudity; Adrien was already plenty used to getting stared at.

With Marinette suitably covered--and blinking blue eyes in still-stunned confusion over his shoulder--Adrien addressed his _extremely_ rude classmate.

Only one word, with one inflection, could fully summarize the level of _what the fuck_ ness that the situation demanded. “Dude!”

“Call it like five minutes? Cool.” He was still half-leaning into the shower room, cheery and pert, the humidity barely affecting his tuft. If he felt embarrassed or ashamed by his interruption, his face didn’t show it.  

“Kim! Even I know that this is a rude thing you are doing!”

“So you need, like, more time?”

“Get out of here, man! Come on!”

“Yeah I hear you, but you _gotta_ see Nathanael’s dick.”

“What? What?! What does Nathanael’s pepper have to do with anything?”

“Just peek at it dude, he’ll let you.”

“Why are you making promises for other people’s dicks!?”

“Cuz I gotta get it in my mouth, dude! I won! Oh hey, Marinette,” said Kim, changing the subject. “Did you have fun? Was it everything you dreamed of? I bet it was.”

“Buh…” she replied, succinctly.

“Did you put anything in his butt? Like a finger? Asking for a friend.”

“Uh--” she replied.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Nice. So anyway, I’m pretty pumped about getting to suck Nathanael’s dick. So yeah, not to rush you, but definitely hurry up.”

“Seriously? We’re not going to finish anything with you watching us, dude!” Adrien was trying to balance covering Marinette’s nakedness with his own and flailing his arms at Kim to make him go away, with little success.

“Oh man,” said Kim. “My bad, you’re so right. Well, have fun!” And he was gone.

Adrien slumped onto Marinette, resting his head against the tiles. He sighed.

“What the fuuuuuu….”

“The fuck was that?” said Marinette, from under him. She was still recovering, slowly, from the physical and emotional and mental schism of being interrupted in the opening stages of a completely shattering orgasm. It left her adrenaline-rich, unstable, but not satisfied. At least not fully.

“I…” said Marinette, unable to completely continue the thought. What the _fuck_ , mostly, was what she was thinking, which she had adeptly expressed.

“I am so sorry,” said Adrien, sliding his arms around her in a hug. It didn’t quite seem right to keep fingering her in front of Kim, and the mood was… substantially ruined.

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” she said. “Kim has always had bad timing.”

“Or in this case, the worst timing,” said Adrien, finishing her thought for her. “I guess that’s why he always loses those racing bets.”

“Thanks for covering me up, though. It was really sweet of you.”

“Of course, Marinette.”

She pulled him down to her lips by the back of his neck, mumbling sweet little things into him. It was quiet, and calm, and nice, and not at all what they had just been doing.

Adrien pulled away, with reluctance. His face was a concerned, curious mess of a thing, and his hands dropped to her hips.

“Um, Marinette…” he began. “It wasn’t really like last time so I don’t know if… um. Did you, uh… did you…”

“Did I--oh! Ohhh.” She twisted her mouth to the side. The question on the lips of just about everyone, the first few times they hook up with a lady: did you get off? At least, if they’re a caring partner.

She sighed. “Like… thirty percent yes? Maybe thirty five? Kim kinda… derailed that train.”

“Dammit, Kim.”

“ _I know_ , ugh.”

“So do you want to, uh…”

“Keep going? Yes. Yes. But…” She glanced to the bathroom door.

Just behind it, they both knew, was an impatient, tipsy jock who needed to get some cock in his mouth. And an unknown number of other people who were paying a little too much attention to everything happening in the shower. It was not ideal. Being aware of the _presence_ of so many people _just outside_ the door, all of a sudden, had made the bathroom a much less comfortable place to explore each other. Let alone relax for a little _doight-foutre_.

“...Yeah,” said Adrien. Smart boy. He got it.

“Yeah,” she agreed. “Kim kinda wrecked the mood and now there’s a line forming. It’s… yeah. Not now. It… feels weird. Just because of them! Just them. Not you. You were…” She gave a satisfied little sigh and sank into his arms. “You were perfect. And you will be again.”

“ _Definitely_. Whenever you want.”

“I’m gonna remember you said that,” she said, tracing a finger up and down his back. “But for now, we should get back to the party and… ”

_Shit._

_Clothes_.

Their clothes were in the bathroom, sure--but they were a mess of pastry crumbs and custard and cream. Not suitable for….anything, really. Until they were thoroughly washed. They’d need to get their pajamas on to be anywhere near somewhat decent for the rest of the evening.

Adrien was sharing the same thought. “I have some robes we can use,” he said, turning off the shower. “That should work.”

Marinette gave him a smile. “Perfectly, Adrien.”

 

* * *

 

* * *

 

They dried themselves off with the awkwardness of two people who had just been naked with each other for the first time, and didn’t quite know the etiquette for switching back to being clothed around each other yet. Where do you put your eyes? Where’s it okay to look? Do you touch? What happens? Do we dry each other off? Is that sexy? Should we be trying to be sexy still? And the thousand other questions that accompany any first-time intimacy.

For two people who had just had their hands all over (and in) each other, Marinette and Adrien blushed an awful lot as they watched each other cover up with fluffy white robes.

They balled up their pastry-spattered clothes, tugged their robes tight around themselves, and kissed deeply once more before walking to the door.

“Hey,” said Marinette. One little tickling tidbit had filtered through her aborted-orgasm-addled brain. “Did Kim say he… _won_ a blowjob for Nathanael?”

 

* * *

 

“Okay girl I’m really sorry that Kim interrupted you but I _know_ you’ll agree with me that this is a worthy cause.” As soon as the door to the bathroom had cracked open, Alya had grabbed Marinette’s hand and tugged her, robe flapping, to the center of the room.

“Alya? What!?” Marinette tried to brake herself, bare feet skidding across the tiles, tripping over the flipped-up corner of the carpet. Her arms wheeled, barely able to keep her balance and the robe closed around herself--Alya had grabbed her before she had a chance to change into her pajamas.

“Um,” said Adrien, following.

“Okay so when you were in the shower--by the way: nice--Rose won the bet, and she got to see Nathanael’s dick, and oh my _foutre_ , Marinette, it’s _such_ a good dick, you have no idea. Alix started tweeting about it, it’s wild.” Alya stopped in the middle of the room, by the couch, halfway to the clump of teenagers huddled under the basketball hoop. Her words had an airy quality, as if they represented something so divine and ethereal that mere language could barely contain it. Joyful little tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “It’s… you have to see it. You gotta see this tonsil magnet.”

“O-oh,” said Marinette. She blinked, twice. Of the two of them, Alya was far from the more dramatic. To hear her declaring such things about a penis spoke volumes of the dick-in-question’s quality. “But--but I’ve just _seen_ a perfect dick, Alya! I’m not… I don’t know if I should…”

Too tempting. There was already a small horde obscuring a red mop of hair that could only be Nathanael. Marinette’s aborted orgasm still rattled through her nerves, only part-satisfied, and the need for dick peeping was upon her. However, some small concerns came to mind, in terms of baguette-spotting and her recent activities.

“Um, Adrien? Do you mind if I--”

Adrien was not where she had left him.

She blinked again, scanned the room, and spotted Adrien’s brilliant soft white robe, covering his perfect body, already trotting over to the crowd, up on his tiptoes to peer over his peers.

_Well, then_ …

“Lead away,” she said, allowing an overeager Alya to guide her to the genital display.

 

* * *

 

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

just saw the best dicc

gonna get on it later mark my fn words

git ready nath #perfectdickinparis

 

**Rose! (@MaVieEnMe)**

I’m so glad he let me show everyone! Maybe I’ll get to touch it too! #perfectdickinparis

 

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

mdr wait in line lol #perfectdickinparis

 

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

#perfectdickinparis more like perfect dick in my mouth

 

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

@pinkchronobitch hey when did you change your name change it back dammit

 

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

suck it kim #perfectdickinparis

 

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

o im gunna #perfectdickinparis

 

***Adjusts glasses* (@kantetouchthis)**

Both of you will be able to suck it in due time, I am sure #perfectdickinparis

 

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

shut up max

 

**I dare you bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

shut up max

 

**Gargoylfriend (@invisigoth)**

So is there like a line or anything

Asking for a friend

#perfectdickinparis

 

**The Heef (@DaftPunkDPDJ)**

I got some music to set the mood unless you know something else nath likes #perfectdickinparis

 

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

guys I’m right here and we’re all in the same room

 

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

use the tag dude cmon #perfectdickinparis

 

* * *

 

“Oh wow.”

“Oh my gosh.”

Adrien and Marinette squatted next to each other, in front of an unzipped and unbuckled Nathanael, shifting their stances to catch it from different perspectives. It was flawless.

“Nathanael, your dick doesn’t have a bad angle! That’s amazing!” Adrien kept swiveling his head, attempting to find some viewpoint which would render an unflattering tableau of Nath’s turgid Adonis. The task was impossible. Any perspective, any angle, was equally as good as the rest. Nathanael’s dick had unparalleled beauty.

“It’s just--wow. I really--I--wow.” Marinette couldn’t find the worst, and she was searching. Adrien’s _saucisse_ had been beautiful to view (and interact with), but Nathanael’s equipment was so refined, so sublime, that food metaphors hardly seemed appropriate. In private moments, Plato must have contemplated this dick, the ideal form from which all other dick-images are derived. This dick could walk among the gods, and be regarded as an equal. It was hardened ambrosia. Which of course raised the question of what _nectar_ might be involved.

“And you say Kim _won_ a blowjob? Like, giving you one?” Adrien stood, hands on hips, trying to look at Nathanael’s face when he asked the question, and failing.

“Um, yeah, I guess. His was the best poem.”

“Poem!?” Adrien and Marinette spoke in unison.

“Kim wrote a poem?” asked Marinette, bolting upright. Her eyes remained tethered to Nathanael’s divine column, and the distraction affected her balance. She wobbled.

“We were all surprised, too,” said Alya. She had draped herself across Marinette’s back, peeking over her shoulder and around a pigtail to sneak a glance at the celestial length of Nathanael’s dingus. “It wasn’t even close, really. Boy’s got talent.”

“I didn’t even know he could read!” said Alix.

“Hey…” Kim punched her in the shoulder, and she punched back. “Careful! That’s my Nathanael-jerking-off-arm!”

Nathanael blushed. More.

“Um,” he said. “Not to be rude or anything but, could I maybe put my pants on? Or be less exposed a bit? I’m kind of--uh…”

“Yeah hey, come on, the bathroom’s free, let’s go,” said Kim, taking Nathanael by the hand. “I mean, I was going to go right now if that’s okay--you can save it for later if you want.”

“N-no, that’s fine!” Nathanael--and his pristine appendage--gave a little twitch. He was still, under the insistent gaze of the crowd, _very_ clearly interested in Kim’s proposition. Even if his exhibitionism fountain was running a little dry.

“Just--just one more minute,” said Adrien. “I’ve never… wow.”

“Y-you can see it some more later, if you’d like…” said Nathanael. He was slowly replacing himself in his pants. The exhibitionism fountain might be a bit dry, but the tease reservoir was still full, apparently.

Adrien bit his lip. _Nice_.

Marinette finally managed to tear her eyes off of Nathanael’s genital lodestone and turn to Adrien. “Adrien… look, your… um… equipment was really, really great. Honestly! B-but, and I’m sorry, but… well, you’re number two. Nathanael’s…” And she drifted off. “I hope you’ll forgive me for thinking that…”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Marinette.” He pulled her into an embrace, holding her face close to his and kissing her softly. “Nathanael has a truly beautiful penis, and we all saw it.”

She buried her face in the terrycloth of his shoulder. “I mean, Adrien, I love you and everything, but there are such things as _perfect aesthetics_ and even I can’t deny that when I see it, you know?” She raised her eyes to his, ready to receive her well-deserved rejection for choosing pure physical beauty over the love of her life. Just like she’d thought, there were tears in Adrien’s eyes.

However…

“Y-you love me?” As he said the words, his lip trembled and he blinked rapidly in one-two-three bursts. His arms held her more tightly, as if he couldn’t risk her leaving.

_Uh oh_.

The fact that her confession was _true_ didn’t make it any less embarrassing to have said unintentionally, or make it any less something she said in front of _everyone_ . Adrenaline closed a fist around her throat and smothered the next few words she intended to say. Which was all as well, because they would have been useless, flailing syllables without anything resembling coherence. The questions remained--Had anyone else heard? What did Adrien think? Was it going to get _weird_ ?--and she had to take _some_ action.

She buried her face in Adrien’s chest (perfect muscles under a soft cotton robe) and mumbled the only answer that could be right.

“Yes.”

And even that was a lot to state, out loud. If into the cotton on someone’s chest could be said to be “out loud.” She nodded, forcing the confession all the way out of her, no questions remaining. And it was, of course, a bit much to admit. Especially around the rest of the partygoers--who were mercifully sneaking a few last peeks at Nathanael’s sword before he sheathed it.

Time for a diversion.

“WELL HEY TIME TO TAKE SOME DRINKS! Yeah! Yep! Wine!”

 

* * *

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

I am *hugely* offended at this “pe//rfectdi//ckinpa//ris” hashtag going around

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

It is an immense slur on the professional conduct, training, and work ethic of genital models such as myself

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

Seeing a hashtag like this go viral on the basis of the idea that a rank AMATEUR can have a perfect dick is absurd

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

Add to that the fact that they’re probably just some lycee students, and it’s frankly inappropriate

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

I really despair of this generation, honestly

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

Regardless, the claim that it a “perfect” penis is also highly dubious  
  
****

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

I very much doubt that the op has had enough experience to determine what penises, if any, are perfect

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

They simply lack the work experience to make such a claim. If they were in the scene, I would know them. We are a tight-knit community.

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

One way or another, this is really making a mockery of my profession, which BY THE WAY is extremely competitive

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

I’ve won several prizes related to phallic presentation, turgidity, length, and shape

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

And honestly, to not even be considered as a subject for this hashtag is spectacularly insulting

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

This new “best Paris dick” meme is tasteless, tacky, crude, and promotes stereotypes about legitimate crotch models

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

And these CHILDREN start a hashtag with NO REGARD to anything else and then IMMEDIATELY it becomes a meme

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

Hashtags and memes are DIFFERENT THINGS and they are RUINING the internet

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

But back to the topic of their--MAY I REMIND YOU--frivolous and dangerous claim about perfect genitalia

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

It’s unsubstantiated at BEST and actively harmful to the community at worst. It is a huge mistake.

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

I doubt if any survey methods were even used

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

Oh dammit here comes a butterfly

 

**Actual Penis Model (@dickpicsaremylife)**

brb getting akumatized

 

* * *

 

“Fly away, my evil akuma, and dicken his hard-on! _Foutre_ , I mean darken his heart!”

 

* * *

 

“So, the people of Paris are disrespecting you? What a terrible error on their part! I can give you the power to reverse that sizeable gaffe, and let everyone in the world know that _you_ have the most perfect member in Paris, but you’ll have to do something for me, and there will be some stiff competition…”

“Anything, Papillon! It won’t be hard!”

“You are now Grande Boner, and you will show everyone what a vast misstep they’ve made. Get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses, and prove that you’re up to it!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To best appreciate the puns in the next chapter, please review this website:
> 
> http://www.dialbforblog.com/archives/136/
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I am going to be taking a short hiatus in November for NaNoWriMo. If I get inspired/distracted/otherwise redirected from that project, I'll try to get the next chapter out. Or potentially a classmate hookup scene. But I definitely can't promise that I will return to Porte-Boner until December. We'll just have to see!


	27. In Which Drinking Games Are Proposed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kids ramp up the drinking, just as a new phallic threat menaces Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter includes oblique references to sexual content, but nothing actually explicit for the characters**
> 
> Required reading: http://www.dialbforblog.com/archives/136/
> 
> I truly, truly recommend checking out that site.
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone! Merry Christmas and happy Hanukkah! I hope that this ridiculous fic brings you some joy!

_ “So, the people of Paris are disrespecting you? What a terrible error on their part! I can give you the power to reverse that sizeable gaffe, and let everyone in the world know that you have the most perfect member in Paris, but you’ll have to do something for me, and there will be some stiff competition…” _

_ “Anything, Papillon! It won’t be hard!” _

_ “You are now Grande Boner, and you will show everyone what a vast misstep they’ve made. Get Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses, and prove that you’re up to it!” _

 

* * *

 

“YEP! SHOTS ARE A GOOD IDEA! TIME TO TAKE SHOTS!” said Marinette, tightening her borrowed robe around herself and hustling away from Adrien’s warm embrace, towards the beverages. She was joined by a chorus of woohoos from the other partygoers--eight of them, to be precise. Kim, Nath, and Adrien had not woohooed, for some very good reasons:

Kim was busy leading Nathanael to the bathroom door by his hand--not that Nath was reluctant, just nervous. The last thing the party at large heard before they shut the door was Kim asking a very pertinent question:

“So, how do you wanna do this? Want to make out first, or…” And then he was cut off by the door. Excellent soundproofing in the Agreste manor. 

Meanwhile, Adrien had failed to woo-hoo not because of a  _ lack _ of attention, but because of  _ too much _ . He was, in that moment, entirely and deeply overwhelmed by the third- and fourth-to-last things Marinette had said. Before the mention of shots. 

When she’d said “I love you.” 

So, Adrien had not wooed any hoo because his world was too busy echoing with that flippant utterance, something so offhanded, so  _ factual _ , that it had barely seemed to slip past her lips as a confession. More like stating an obvious, and self-evident fact. She’d told him that she loved him like she’d tell you that you need cold butter to make croissants. A step in a recipe that, if you omit it, changes what you bake. Indisputable, like it was a part of her that she’d shared, not an emotional state.

Adrien hadn’t heard that someone loved him since he and Ladybug had fought the Hipsteur. And before that, how long had it been? Years? Years. And now, twice in a week. 

The party swirled around him, as people toasted to Nathanael’s perfect pepper, and Kim’s remarkably heartfelt poem. Shots were shot, and and Adrien, in a stupor, even took a few himself, but he felt wobbly and swirling for reasons entirely unrelated to ethanol. Marinette loved him, and Ladybug loved Chat Noir--maybe not in the same way, and maybe as a hero more than a model, but hey! Close enough. 

Tequila burned a harsh, warm line down his throat, and Nino slapped him on the back a few times, chummily, dislodging the belt of his robe and almost flashing the goods to the entire party.  _ Oh right. Still just wearing the robes… _ He pulled on pajama bottoms and thought about love. 

Adrien had always  _ had _ plenty of love to give. His mother, his father, even Chloe in a weird little way. Nathalie, of course, and Gorilla, too, and Nino. And then he’d met Ladybug and it had been  _ different _ , emotion pouring out of him, reflecting and refracting off of her and growing brighter with every moment, rather than being smothered by the quiet, still, oppressive, emotional drabness of the Agreste household. He loved, he loved, he loved, and now after so long, two girls loved him back? The first, who had said that he  _ mattered _ to her, that they had a bond stronger than anything. And the second, who had said she loved him like it was as innate as Plagg’s love of cheese. Being so naturally, so  _ fundamentally _ loved as that hadn’t truly struck him until that moment, adjusting soft silk pajama pants and swapping his robe for a t-shirt. Anticlimactic, in a way, to just be changing clothes mid-revelation about love, but any activity would have been humbled by that knowledge. He was finally loved.  _ Really _ loved. In as many ways as you could want. 

He sauntered back to the party, smiling, wiping little tears out of his eyes, and thought about Marinette loving him, and how he was going to hold her and kiss her and love her back with everything he had.

 

* * *

 

“Ssso you’re tellin’ me,” said Marinette, with excellent enunciation. “That Kim… Le Chien Kim… who we know… who is Kim… wrote a poem?”

Her suggestion of “shots” had been widely appreciated, and she and Adrien were propping each other up in the middle of the couch, absorbed in each other and their closeness, and only distractable by the siren song of delicious alcohol. Eventually, the  _ breauvages _ \--which is French for “beverages”--sluiced away the earnest, but still awkward, self-consciousness at her confession to Adrien, leaving room for other ideas to float to the surface. Namely, the reason they’d been ejected from the 

“It was so good, Marinette. It really was!” said Rose, draped across Juleka’s lap. “I was moved to tears!”

“Word,” said Nino. “We all got a little dewy-eyed. It was shockingly beautiful.”

“So… Kim…”

“Uh huh,” said Nino. 

“Wrote… poem. A poem.”

“Yes, Marinette. Kim wrote a poem,” said Alya. “You missed it.”

“And it was beautyefyul?” asked Marinette, articulately. 

“Well to be fair, it  _ was _ about a dick,” said Max. “It is the first in several top ten curated lists of his interests, which I can produce for you in--”

“No no no,” said Marinette, as everyone nodded in agreement. Everyone loved dicks, at least a  _ little _ , but Kim… Kim was a true aficionado. “I believe you, we all believe you… it’s just… with poetry…  it’s just  _ Kim _ .  _ KIM _ .”

“He had a lot of motivation! I remember a certain girl being very motivated a time or two back in college. Wink,” said Alya, putting action to word. “Honestly, though? I’m truly a little bit embarrassed that I didn’t even come close,” said Alya. “I  _ really _ wanted to suck that dick. No offense, Nino.”

“Babe, it would be impossible for me to take offense at you wanting to suck that throbbing genital bodhisattva. It’s the highest and best use for a mouth.” Nino shook his head, dabbing at his eyes with his hat. “Beautiful. Truly beautiful.”

“Aw, thanks babe!”

“I would sit on the sidelines weeping tears of joy as you fellated that pleasure-pillar.”

“Nino! You romantic! You Casanova!” She continued with a number of other small, sweet endearments, but they were harder to hear, given that she’d pulled Nino’s lips to hers. 

“Sho… but what was the poem?” asked Marinette. She blinked rapidly a few times, gazing around the circle of friends.

The classmates who hadn’t been blasting through French Revolution milestones at the time considered each other, replaying each stanza and couplet in their heads. Mylene started to declaim some of it, leaning forward from her place in Ivan’s lap and getting a half-syllable out, but stopped herself. Several others made the attempt, but fell short of even truly beginning. 

“Sorry, Marinette,” said Mylene, shrugging. “It’s really how Kim did the reading, I think.” She was met by a flurry of drunk--and thus dizzy--nods.

“He did some  _ really _ good voices,” added Ivan.

“Voices?” asked Adrien, after he’d been done choking on his beverage. VSOP port: classy!

“Oh my  _ gosh _ the voices were the best!” said Rose, giggling at the memory, and also at the feeling of Juleka’s fingers running through her hair. 

“He’s got a very good range,” said Juleka. 

“THAT’SH RIGHT HE DOES,” said Alix, throwing herself onto the back of the couch, from where she had been previously reclining on the floor, unnoticed by all. She hung by one arm, holding a wine bottle in one hand, with only her pink pseudo-pigtail poking over the edge of the furniture. “Nailed it.” She had not, in fact, nailed it.

“Alix, that’s not even an innuendo, I think,” said Ivan. “Like maybe if--”

“That’s what  _ you _ think,” said Alix, hauling herself up slightly, enough to lift one eye over the rim of the sofa. She winked, or blinked. It wasn’t clear, given that she was barely upright and only one eye was visible. 

“WINK,” she said. Ah, so it had been a wink.

“Someone cut Alix off,” said Alya, waving fingers at her, herself slightly too inebriated to give standing any real attempt. “She’s in the inaccurate innuendo stage of being drunk.”

“You shut your time-mouth,” said Alix. “I’ve been on energy drinks and the French equivalent of Gatorade for fifteen minutes, I’m good.”

“Safety first,” said Nino. “Drink some water, too.”

“I will chug the sea and gargle every fish,” said Alix. “ADRIEN. Where’s your backup bathroom. A pee.”

“There’s a half-bath under the quarter-pipe, but I don’t--”

“KNEW IT,” said Alix, followed by “Parkour!” She drunkenly parkour’d off of the back of the couch--somehow managing to stick the landing--to open a subtly-hidden door on the quarter-pipe. Marinette spared a moment to be slightly furious at Alix for being intensely nimble without any superpowers.  _ How dare you _ , she said, and felt bad.  _ I’m sorry, it was Mme. Wine talking, I love you Alix. _

_ Wine-Marinette! You’re back! _

_ That’s right! I bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. Well surprise,  _ chienne _. _

_ Rude! _

_ I’m sorry. _

_ It’s okay I still love you, Wine-Marinette. _

_ And I still love  _ you _ , Marinette-Marinette! _

_ Hugs! _

Since hugging yourself is less satisfying than hugging an Adrien, Marinette wrapped her arms around him. Though she never really needed a reason, the hug Marinette swept Adrien up into was at least slightly more inexplicable than usual. He seemed pretty happy, though. He smiled, batting her pigtails gently, and kissed the top of her head, whispering sweet little syllables into her scalp that meant nothing, and meant everything to her.

“I wonder how it’s going in there. Ooh! Oh no! We should have asked if we could watch!”

“Rose, babe, you did. Several times.” Juleka clucked her tongue, pausing in her hair-stroking to take another drink. “You offered to find, and hold, a camera for them.”

“Oh riiiight…”

“As if brute technology could capture such a masterpiece,” said Mylene. “1080p couldn’t handle it.”

“I wonder if Kim’s gonna make it a race?” asked Ivan. “He’s kind of got a speed thing.”

“You’re saying he finishes quick?” asked Nino. “Hey-o! Max, dude, confirm?”

Max merely shook his head. “Look, you clearly understand Kim’s love for genitalia. Even he wouldn’t let his competitive streak--”

“Swath. You mean his competitive swath,” said Alix, exiting the secret secondary bathroom under the quarter pipe. “Or like, vast expanse. Competitive vast expanse. Also Adrien, that bathroom is  _ way _ too small too hook up in, what the hell. Just sayin’.”

“--Ignoring that… okay, so he won’t let his competitive  _ vast expanse _ get in the way of a good  _ pipe _ ,” said Max, around a vigorous roll of the eyes. “The fellow sucks a mean dick, I’m saying.”

“ _ Pipe _ ?” said Marinette. “Huh?”

“Slang, girl,” said Alya. “It’s a oral sex.”

_ Damn! I’m two for two, sexy parties and new slang terms! _ thought Marinette.  _ What else am I missing? _

_ Well, pastries already have sexual connotations… right? Gotta look into that more. _

Alix had taken up the story where Max had cut off. “Max made us stop turning it into a race,” said Alix in a conspiratorial whisper to Ivan and Mylene. Her skill at whispering left much to be desired--everyone heard her. That, of course, may have been the point. “ _ Someone _ thinks stopwatches aren’t sexy.” She pursed her lips to the side, waggling her head back and forth.  _ Highly  _ affronted.

“They are  _ not _ a sexual accessory, Alix,” said Max, with the voice of a man who was having the same argument as he’d had regularly for years. “They are timekeeping tools which are  _ not necessary _ for a romantic encounter.”

“But if you don’t keep  _ track _ , how do you know who _ won _ ?!” whined Alix.

“Obviously, I am the one who won.” Max crossed his arms, looking satisfied. Which, apparently, he had been. By Kim and Alix. On a regular, and speedy, basis.  _ Nice _ . 

The conversation swirled around various topics of oral sex--Kim-on-Nath, Alix-on-Max, et cetera, et cetera, but Adrien had been lost in thought, uninvolved, merely enjoying the comforting warmth of Marinette still wrapped around him. He did, however, spend a moment to think of how glad he was that he’d switched into real pants--the conversational topic would have inspired quite a terrycloth tent in his robe, but his pants were letting him be a bit more discreet, at least. Lost in thought though he was, blowjob convo was in the air, and the act in question was being performed a few scant meters away. Given Marinette’s slightly heavier breathing pattern, she was apparently quite aware of it, too.

But Adrien, for all that he was passively absorbing the conversation on cocksuckery, had come to an abrupt and shocking realization.

“DAMMIT,” said Adrien, though it was far, far too late. “I have a fucking  _ closet _ .”

“Language!” said Rose.

“Sorry, Rose.”

“No no, nonono,” said Marinette, pressing a finger to Adrien’s--beautiful, rose-petal-like, immensely soft--lips. “Kim derailed me when he barged in--it wouldn’t have--”

“I knowwww,” he moaned. “But we could have deflected people preemptively! Dammit! Planning!”

“How did you get better at planning when you got  _ more _ drunk,” asked Marinette, fishing around for her half-empty cup. Adrien handed it to her, and blushed. 

He was still slightly embarrassed at how easily he could blush in front of someone he had literally  _ just seen _ naked but for pastry fillings.   
  
“I, uh…” he started. “I had some… other things… on my mind.”

“High five!”

Adrien reached up, high fiving Nino without looking. His eyes were for Marinette at that moment. She snuggled closer to him, vibrant splashes of color high on her cheeks. She was still, as far as he could tell, still only wearing the robe. 

_ Damn _ , he thought.  _ I just got out of a nudity scenario with Marinette and I am  _ still _ trying to peek down her robe… _

_ Well, can’t blame me for that. She’d be down. _

_ Wine-me! You’re back! And that is  _ rude!

_ Then ask if you can peek, Adrien-Adrien! _

Adrien felt  _ highly _ devilish as he whispered a quick, secret little question to Marinette--he was a much more covert whisperer than Alix was--and she blushed and burrowed harder into his chest. Then she raised her head, peeking around the room to make sure they didn’t have an audience, and opened the neck of her robe just enough for Adrien to take a glance at her  _ tetines _ . She giggled--and so did Alya.

...Correction, she’d opened the neck of her robe just enough for Adrien  _ and Alya _ to take a glance. Whoops. But, of course, Alya just gave her a smile, and a wink.

Marinette blushed harder, cuddling up to Adrien, as he dislodged a pillow from behind himself to place on his lap.

 

* * *

 

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

hell yeah i am instants away from getting it in my mouth #perfectdickinparis

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

Oh my gosh.

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

Livetweet it, dude! #perfectdickinparis

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

also use the tag we been over this #perfectdickinparis

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

I am not going to livetweet my first blowjob!

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

Aw cmon! Inquiring minds want to know! #perfectdickinparis

**I Dare You Bro (@69fastrunnr69)**

Hmmm mmphs smmmm hmmph #perfectdickinparis

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

the heck?

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

He’s… sort of tweeting with his mouth full

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

what? dude why would you type out full mouth sounds

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

Text-to-speech. Get good.

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

AAAHAHAHAHAH NICE

**FASTERTHANKIM (@pinkchronobitch):**

LIVETWEET LIVETWEET LIVETWEET #perfectdickinparis

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

oh gosh lsosing tehn abildily to tyep

**fml art is hard (@theNeutrillustrator)**

gtotta ggo nbye

**La Heef (@DaftPunkDP)**

Im so proud of them! #perfectdickinparis

 

* * *

 

“Hyokay, guys, we’re all pretty drunk now right?” asked Alya. “We are, I’m not misreading that?”

A chorus of slurred “YEP”s drifted to her from the party.

“Well  _ I _ , my personal self, have a fun present and treat for  _ you _ , and  _ also  _ for me,” she said. “Adrien put this into a machine that will play it.” She handed Adrien a DVD. 

“Whoa,” he said. “I feel like it’s 2006.”

“I will have you know that that disc contains a wonderful feature film which you will appreciate, you glistening Helios,” said Alya. “I heard Marinette say that about you once, and I liked it, I’m going to keep saying it.”

“ALYA NO!”

“Alya yes!” replied Alya, booping Marinette off of Adrien by her nose. “Now get a-screening that, cinema boy. Nino. Pay close attention. This is filmography in the  _ flesh _ .”

More quietly, she whispered into Nino’s ear: “And  _ of _ the flesh. Wink.”

The party as a whole, willing to trust Alya as they were, gathered around Adrien’s TV, lazing on or against the couch or reclining on piles of pillows and blankets. The title of Alya’s movie appeared on the screen, accompanied by an absolutely trashy saxophone soundtrack.

“Jacques Claquer-Enfoiré et Yvette Deuxsens...   
  


“In…

“A Ladynoir production...

“DEBAUCHEROUS LAID-YBUG!”

Adrien and Marinette spoke at the same time.

“How many other movies are there?” asked Adrien, urgently.

“There’s  _ porn  _ of meeee--”  _ UH OH. _ “--eeeeeeeeeeeeaningful and renowned heroes of Paris, Ladybug and Chat Noir?” said Marinette.

 

* * *

 

“ _ Wow, Lady Bug _ ,” said ‘Chat Noir.’ 

“He’s not even inflecting it right,” said Alya. “Ugh. You can hear the space between ‘lady’ and ‘bug.’ This is bullshit.”

“ _ We sure defeated that hakuna _ ,” said the fake superhero on the screen.

“THAT’S NOT WHAT THEY’RE CALLED! IT’S AKUMA! EVERYONE KNOWS THAT!”

“Alya, babe, chill, try to enjoy the idiots who are gonna do sex stuff on screen.” Nino pulled her back down to the couch, likely to prevent her from fistfighting Adrien’s entertainment center.

Alya huffed, but went quiet, seething inwardly at how this low-budget porno would  _ dare _ mess up the Ladybug lore.  _ They could have  _ easily _ looked up everything they needed to know on the Ladyblog! _ thought Alya. 

...Though, on second thought, maybe having professional pornographers trawling a lycee student’s blog for information wasn’t a great idea.  _ Yikes _ , thought Alya. 

“ _ Yes we did, Char Noir _ ,” said ‘Ladybug.’ “ _ I think we should… celebrate _ .”

And apparently, porn-Chat Noir and porn-Ladybug  _ really _ knew how to celebrate.

 

* * *

 

“ _ I  _ always _ shave for you, Chat Noir, _ ” said ‘Ladybug.’

Marinette snorted. “Pfft. Try again.” Catching herself mid-scoff, she looked around--no one had noticed. They were clearly a little bit too into the porno to listen to Marinette. 

“ _ Hey Lady Bug _ ,” said ‘Chat Noir,’ acting very hard. “ _ Do you want to see what other superpower the black cat miraculous gave me _ .” He phrased it like a statement, rather than a question. That’s how hard he was acting.

“ _ Yes I do want to see what other superpower the black cat miraculous gave you, _ ” said ‘Ladybug.’ Her eyes flashed off-screen, back and forth, clearly checking her lines. She, too, was acting. Acting  _ very hard _ . It is easy to act well when supported with an expertly crafted script, you see.

_ Well _ … thought Marinette.  _ It may not be well acted… but… it  _ is _ pretty visually striking, I’ll give it that. They’re both quite attractive people. That ‘Ladybug’ looks nothing like me, of course, but their ‘Chat Noir’ looks OH MY GOD _ .

On-screen, ‘Chat Noir’ had rolled onto his back and lifted his legs high into the air. He’d brought them down, towards his face, like he was doing a weird new sort of black-latex-body-paint-Bikram-yoga, but with your dick hanging out, when he lifted his head and started trying to activate his very personal baton with his own tongue. He managed to get a good half of it in his mouth. 

... _ Damn _ , thought Marinette and Adrien at the same time.

“ _ I guess cats really are flexible _ ,” said ‘Ladybug.’

_ I have to know, _ said Adrien, his eyes going dinnerplate-wide.  _ I have to know if that’s an option. Also I have to make sure to feed Plagg some  _ nasty _ cheese to make up for it _ .

Next to him, Marinette’s eyes were just as wide.

_ I wonder if Chat Noir can actually… _ thought Marinette.  _ No… better not ask. But if it comes up in conversation… WHY WOULD IT!? Aaa! Okay, Wine-Me, settle! The dick you should be pondering should be  _ Adrien’s _!  _

She was, of course, already  _ heavily _ pondering Adrien’s sensual soppressata. Especially how it might taste. Oral sex was a hot topic of late, she figured _. _

Around Adrien and Marinette, the party was a mix of embarrassed, horny fascination, and jokes. 

“Damn!” said Nino. “The legends are true! The Oralboros!”

“Good name!” said Alya. “I’ve just been doing searches for ‘dude sucks his own dick.’ I’ll have to try that.”

“What, y’all can’t do that?” asked Ivan. Of course, for Ivan, that wasn’t a joke.

Mylene punched him in the shoulder. “Don’t brag! You’ll make them jealous.”

“Envious, more likely,” said Alix. “Of  _ you _ , Mylene.” Mylene blushed, but her eyes stayed riveted to the screen.

“ _ Give me that extendable baton, Chat Noir! _ ” said the on-screen heroine. Everyone groaned.

“Seriously?” said Nino. “Seriously?”

“It appears so,” said Max. “And apparently, Ladybug doesn’t waste any time.”

“Whoa! Straight to anal?” said Alix. “They didn’t even Lucky Charm up any lube.”

“Yeah, that’s… not… wise…” said Mylene, drifting off--like everyone else had--as ‘Ladybug’ and ‘Chat Noir’ really started going to town on each other. They say that Paris is a city of love, after all--and  _ Debaucherous Laid-ybug _ was definitely proving that they didn’t only mean the platonic kind.

 

* * *

 

It was quite a night at the Trocadero. Couples wandered aimlessly, retracing the paths of countless lovers over the years; vendors hawked wares with suggestive, but misleading, catchphrases; the Eiffel Tower had been lit up and was blazing grandly into the cosmos. The wide esplanade was marred with one object of debris--someone had popped a tent in front. But it didn’t detract from the tableau as a whole. A gorgeous night, in a gorgeous city.

But it could use a few more penises.

From out of the shadows within the mighty tent, a figure emerged. He stood long--I mean tall--and hard--I mean… muscular, and he bore upon his head a glistening purple fireman’s helmet, cleft lightly down the middle. He wore an incredibly tight pink turtleneck sweater--snug folds of fabric clutching at his throat--which for some reason ended slightly above his manly, powerful nipples. Below, he wore a skin-tight pair of supervillain-spandex trousers in a similar, but slightly darker and more wrinkly, version of his skin tone. It was truly a marvel of Papillon’s power that the fabric was both skin-tight and wrinkly. A substantial bulge ran from the crux of akumatized akumathighs to his left kneecap. For boots, he wore bulbous, fuzzy orbs, lending his pace an awkward, ungainly jiggle. 

“Oh I get it,” said a kebab vendor, stifling a chuckle. “So you’re like a giant schlong? That’s your theme?”

A purple glow in the shape of a butterfly appeared around the akuma villain’s face. Papillon spoke to him: “So… laugh at my Boner, will they? Grande Boner! Show them what an immense mistake they’ve made!”

Grande Boner turned to the innocent kebab vendor, who had gone back to slicing doner. As a citizen of Paris, she was becoming shockingly blase about the whole akuma thing.

“SILENCE,” boomed the villain, to the silent kebabista. “I am the GRANDE BONER, and  _ your _ great mistake was earning my enmity!” 

The akuma villain leaned forward, pointing the cleft of his fireman helmet at the vendor. She blinked in surprise, briefly, before sighing and flipping her cart’s sign from “Désolé, nous sommes ouverts” to “Vendeur a été akumatié.” Whoever had started manufacturing those signs had made a  _ killing _ . 

“Dude, not cool,” she said. “I’ve got work to do here. If you’re going to turn me into one of your minions, can you just do it? Instead of just… leaning over weirdly?”

“Not quite there yet,” said Grande Boner.

“Relatedly, nobody wants to see your gross dick costume.” She waved a pair of tongs at him, in as threatening a manner as kebab tongs would allow.

“Almost,” said the Grande Boner.

“If you’re not going to do anything, can you, like, piss off? You’re making the tourists feel--hey!”

“A LITTLE PRICK!” shouted the Grande Boner, erecting himself upright, with a tube held to his lips. He exhaled in a puff, and with a  _ fwoop _ , a feathered needle flew threw the air, sticking in the vendor’s neck. She knelt to him, chanting a monotone “I have entered the bone zone.” When she raised her head again, a big floppy dick swung from her neck, completely replacing her head.

The sound of applause from the sidewalk grabbed Grande Boner’s attention.

“Whoa! So you’re an akuma right? That’s so cool!” said a tourist, in English. He snapped a picture, then turned around to take a selfie with the akuma victim. “Nice! Shared. Dude, so like,

I really thought you were going to blast her with white energy from your purple helmet,” said a tourist. “It seems like that would really be more topical. You know, like, because you’re a giant penis, and it’d be like you’re nutting on--”

“What?” Grande Boner was livid, his throbbing purple helmet-head rising several centimeters into the air on the power of turgid  _ fury _ . “Fuck you, you debauched libertine! It’s about the  _ dick aesthetics _ , which are  _ clearly _ wasted on you!” He made a gesture which was obscene, even controlling for the fact that it was a man dressed as a villainous penis. “You know what? You know  _ what _ ? You’re my slave now. A LITTLE PRICK!”

Fwoop, fwoop, fwoop, and the Grande Boner’s army grew with each little prick of a blowdart stuck into an innocent civilian. Surveying his handiwork, Grande Boner smiled, addressing Paris as a whole. 

“You think you’ve identified the perfect dick? I’ll make the people of this city rue the day they mentioned that hashtag. That junk discussion was a catastrophic boner!”

 

* * *

 

“Oh my goodness, Chat Noir’s getting to the Constitution of 1793 with himself  _ and _ Ladybug  _ at the same time _ !” Alya had gotten over her disgust at the various inaccuracies within the pornographic dramaturgy, and was bouncing up and down in excitement,  _ sans  _ sobriety. “This is  _ amazing. _ ”

“The local Parisian pornography industry does indeed employ some admirable talent,” said Max. “I believe that Monsieur Claquer-Enfoiré in particular is known for his flexibility and… capacity, let’s say.”

“Oh! Oh! Let’s play a drinking game! Every time they kiss, we have to take a drink!”

“Rose, that’s very sweet,” said Juleka. “But… they aren’t doing a lot of kissing.”

“I didn’t say it had to be on the mouth!” replied the smaller girlfriend of the two. 

“Ooh la la!” said Nino. “Rose, you  _ libertine _ .”

“Take a drink when she looks bored!” suggested Alix. “And when they clearly re-apply lube when the shot cuts!”

“Finish your drink when the dude cums,” said Ivan. “Obviously.”

“Or if fake ‘Ladybug’ squirts!” added Mylene. “You never know!”

“Do you have something to tell us, Mylene?” asked Max. She threw a squeezed-out lime at him. That was probably a maybe.

While Adrien and Marinette snuggled into each other, the rest of the party suggested more rules for a porn-themed drinking game. Every time Alya gets offended at an inaccuracy: two drinks. Every time they add another person to the  _ menage _ : one drink. Every time something happens that makes Max raise his porn-saturated, jaded eyebrows: finish your drink. The basics, but for local superhero porn.

“The ‘Bug-Cave?’ Ladybug doesn’t have a ‘Bug-Cave,’” said Adrien, indignantly. “I could handle the other inaccuracies, but everyone  _ knows  _ that Ladybug and Chat Noir don’t have a secret lair where they--oh. Oh she meant  _ that _ kind of cave.”

“Hey,” said Marinette, realizing a substantial absence in the movie. “When are they going to use the--”

“ _ FUCKY CHARM _ !” said the on-screen ‘Ladybug.’ Everyone moaned, but in a how-terrible-was-that-pun way, rather than a boy-this-sure-is-arousing way. 

“Are you  _ kidding me _ with that pun!?” shouted Mylene, flinging herself dramatically back onto Ivan, who patted her reassuringly. 

On Adrien’s absurdly high-definition television, after an absolutely  _ abysmal _ burst of CGI hearts, an immense red-and-black spotted strapon appeared, and ‘Ladybug’ stepped into it, snugging it into place. Several low, impressed whistles sounded from the audience.

Unnoticed, a heavier-breathing Marinette and Adrien both independently bit their knuckles.

 

* * *

 

“Go forth, Putz Patrol! Jerk the citizens of Paris off! ……. of their guard!”

With a gesture, Grande Boner sent a battalion of knob-headed dick legionnaires marched out into the streets of Paris to sew the seeds of destruction. A purple butterfly glowed around Grande Boner’s face. 

“Are you ready, my little villain, to force Ladybug and Chat Noir into a boner?”

“Of course, Papillon! I have knowledge of the greatest boners of all time!”

“And how will you draw them out, then?”

“I will prove to Paris how critical of an error they made--by giving them a  _ permanent reminder _ of the biggest and best boner in history!”

The purple glow faded with a muffled “excellent, excellent,” as the Grande Boner turned his attention across the Pont d'Iéna, to colossal erectness of the biggest phallic symbol in all of Paris. 

The Eiffel Tower.

 

* * *

 

“ _ We interrupt this bootleg pornographic video to bring you an important news bulletin. I’m Nadja Chamack _ .  _ Now, live to Alec in the field. _ ”

“WHAT!? How did they know?!” Alya sat up, lightly shrugging off a Nino. Cuddling was good, but this was  _ news _ . She was barely even swaying--a breaking story had sobered her up, a tiny bit.

The screen flashed to an avenue near the Trocadero. Alec was looking over his shoulder, towards a number of distinctly phallic street signs, before turning back to the camera and beginning his report.

“ _ Nadja, we’ve got multiple reports of… uh… genital-headed individuals acting hostilely towards the citizens of Paris _ .” Alec visibly held himself back from a giggle, sucking his lips into his mouth and biting them. “ _ My apologies. Allergic reaction. Not a laugh. Ahem _ .” He took a moment to compose himself. “ _ We go now live to Officer Raincomprix _ .”

Alec disappeared, replaced with a baffled, redheaded Sabrina’s dad. He was sweating distinct gobbets of nervous perspiration. While the average citizen of Paris may have become jaded to crisis, apparently the police force wasn’t, which was probably a good thing. After staring blankly at the camera for a moment, he began to speak. “ _ Uh, thank you, Alec. It appears that Papillon has unleashed another akuma on the city, and the police, or as we say in France,  _ gendarmes _ , are powerless to stop him. These boner crimes are making us look bad _ !”

“ _ You heard it here first, Nadja. Paris needs Ladybug and Chat Noir _ .” 

A smash and explosion sounded off-screen, and the camera whipped around to reveal a startlingly phallic akuma villain.

“ _ This isn’t the kind of fluff piece you should be broadcasting, Alec _ !” said the akuma villain, standing erect on top of a nearby building. “ _ The Grande Boner demands a much more skilled fluffer _ !”

“I don’t think he knows what that means…” said Nino, under his breath.

Back on the television, the Grand Boner replied to Officer Roger. “ _ Silence! A little PRICK _ !” 

_ Fwoop _ , jab, and Officer Roger was turned into another cock-noggin under the sway of the Grande Boner. The station’s censor was pretty quick on the draw, and the broadcast had barely a second of full glans-on-camera exposure before an enterprising Bowlderizer tossed up a mosaic blur.  

And then the screen was full of dickheads. Marching, en masse, throughout Paris. Their blurred knob-ends waggling gently as they walked.

The screen cut back to Nadja Chamack. “ _ Well… there you have it. It appears that there are… penis-people harassing the citizens of Paris. We’ll be back with updates once Ladybug and Chat Noir arrive, but for now, we return you to your illicitly obtained erotic videos _ .”

In Adrien’s room, the party was silent. Only the soft sounds and bad puns of Ladynoir erotica broke the quiet. 

“I GOTTA GO,” said Alya, before Nino circled his arms around her waist, pulling her back to the sofa. 

“BABE! Babe,” he said. “You are  _ definitely too drunk _ to be chasing an akuma right now! Girl! Come on!”

“You shut your beautiful mouth, Nino! I’m good!” said Alya, who was not. “This is Alya, coming to you live from a recent report of akuma activity, where--”

“Alya, you’re reporting into Max’s 3DS. You caught a Rowlet.”

Alya looked down. “So it seems I have.” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, to little avail. “You… may be right about that. Maybe I should--”

“AKUMA DRINKING GAME!” said Mylene, startling everyone, including herself. “What!?” she said, looking around like the world’s most wide-eyed chrysanthemum. “We were all thinking it! Like, every time someone gets transformed, take a drink.”

“YEAH!” said Alix, flinging herself onto the back of the sofa from where she’d been lying on the floor again. “An when Labdybubugg does her Lunky Charm,  _ ya finish ya drink _ , get me?”

“If the akuma destroys any buildings you destroyed when you were an akuma, finish your drink,” suggested Ivan. “Marinette and Adrien, just take a drink whenever a building gets destroyed. No need for us to look farther into that.”

“Agreed,” said Max. “May I also suggest that every time Chat Noir makes a pun, we all take a drink?”

“We’ll all die,” said Marinette and Adrien in unison. They looked at each other, caught the other’s goofy grin, and giggled. Then, independently, they both retreated to their own thoughts.

_ WAIT A MINUTE _ , thought Marinette. I’M _ Ladybug! I can’t be a drinking game for myself! Where’s Tikki!? _

_ WAIT A MINUTE _ , thought Adrien. I’M  _ Chat Noir! And I can get all my friends  _ super drunk _ if I can come up with enough puns! _

_ …  _ Merde _ , wait, also I have to go fight that akuma! _

 

* * *

 

With Alya convinced that akuma-chasing was sufficiently unwise when you’re drunk, the party switched from porn drinking games, to akuma news drinking games. Alya was content to livetweet the news to the Ladyblog, giving background and a tipsy play-by-play as she received it. You have to keep the content up to date when you’re the preeminent superhero blog, after all. Even if you can’t be in the field, because you’re twisty on beverages.

“Hey! I recognize that guy from when I disappeared him when I was Chronogirl!” said Alix, pointing out a passerby who was about to get dicked. Or, rather, turned into a dick.

“Drink!” said Ivan, and Alix obliged.

Meanwhile, Marinette and Adrien, independently, privately, and internally, screamed. 

_ I am so drunk! Oh no!  _ thought Marinette, over and over. It was a constant refrain, the need to save Paris, and the reluctance to leave Adrien’s arms, tempered with the substantial blurred-swishy feeling of being just about as drunk as she’d ever been.  _ Those shots were maybe not a great idea… No, dammit, they were. Just not now! _

Adrien was having a similar conversation.  _ How the heck do I leave my own party for long enough to take out an akuma? How long should that take? I need some coffee or something,  _ heck _.  _ He squeezed Marinette slightly closer to him.  _ And I’m going to let down Marinette! Dammit! Papillon you absolute trash man! _

Adrien looked around for his options. A Marinette to his left. Alya and Nino to the right. Some snacks. Drunk people. His own glass of port. Hmmm...

... _ Better blame model stuff.  _

With a slightly-too-obviously-intentional “whoops” (which no one noticed, given that they were thoroughly soused), Adrien “accidentally” poured his drink onto himself, soaking his t-shirt and pajama bottoms with fragrantly alcoholic liquid. 

“OH NO,” said Adrien, acting exactly as hard as the adult films stars of mere minutes ago. “I SEEM TO HAVE SPILLED MY DRINK WELL BETTER GET CHANGED GOT AN IMAGE TO MAINTAIN OKAY BYE FOR NOW THIS MIGHT TAKE A WHILE.”

Meanwhile, Marinette had also flown into motion, slightly before Adrien’s spill.

“OH GOSH I SURE FEEL DRUNK,” she said, in a completely normal and not suspicious manner, which Adrien did not need to investigate further. “I’M GONNA GO LIE DOWN PERFECTLY STILL UNDER THE COVERS, ADRIEN CAN I BORROW YOUR BED?”

“OF COURSE! I WILL BE IN MY CLOSET, WHERE NO ONE NEEDS TO INVESTIGATE.”

“THEN WE ARE AGREED.” And so they parted, with the party as a whole getting steadily drunker to the akuma news, and Marinette and Adrien slipping off completely unsuspiciously.

Marinette wrapped her robe tighter around herself, padding softly to Adrien’s bed. She snagged her phone from where she’d left it in her pants, and bent over, calling softly into the darker corners of the room. “Tikki? Tikki!”

“Marinette!” A bright red blur flew from Adrien’s desk to Marinette, and Tikki settled herself inside the fold of the robe. “Whoa! Just wearing the robe, huh?” Tikki took a seat on Marinette’s left boob. “Congratulations!”

“Tikki!” Marinette blushed, then interrupted it to whisper more frantically. “Well--yes, but… akuma! There’s an akuma!”  _ And I am so thankful for alcohol right now _ , she thought _ , both in terms of it being great, and in terms of distracting everyone _ . 

“We have to go! Paris needs Ladybug, Marinette!” 

“I have to have an alibi! I said I’m going to pass out in Adrien’s bed and--”

“Oooh la la, Marinette! What a night for you!”

“Tikki! It’s hard for me to focus enough as it is! I have had drinks!”

“Well, what are you going to do?”

Marinette produced her phone, opening up an app. “Pillows under the covers have never failed me,  _ and _ I can record a pretty sweet snore. Let’s go!”

While Marinette arranged some pillows and such under Adrien’s covers, and set her recording of her snore-impression to loop, Adrien was stripping out of his port-stained clothes in the closet. He was halfway out of the closet window--because of  _ course _ his closet has a window--when he realized he’d forgot the most important thing. 

_ Plagg. Dammit! _

He pried up a loose floorboard where he kept an emergency Camembert stash. Selecting a piece, he held it up to the air vent and gently fanned his hand behind it, suffusing the area with cheesy richness. Whistling softly, he summoned his kwami with the most reliable means he could.

“Plagg! Heeeeeeere Plagg! Here kitty kitty! Cheese!”

“I am  _ offended _ ,” said Plagg, phasing through the door. “Whistling for me like I’m some… some… simple street feline! Or dog! Adrien, you  _ wound _ me in your drunken revels.”

“It worked, didn’t it? Now let’s go! There’s a  _ really _ impolite akuma out there!”

“ _ FINE _ ,” said Plagg, swallowing the cheese wedge in a single bite. “Ladybug should be there soon.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”

“NOTHING IGNORE THAT. Just say the thing, don’t think about what I said or anything else, ever.”

That seemed reasonable. “Plagg,  _ transformer-moi _ !” 

 

* * *

 

“Oh no oh no oh no OH NO OH NO!” 

Both Chat Noir and Ladybug spoke--or, rather, yelled--in unison as they hurtled through the air towards each other. Ladybug had swung off of her yo-yo into the sky, eager to pursue the Grande Boner, and her trajectory had  _ exactly _ intersected with Cat’s vault into the air off of his baton. Right outside the Agreste Manor--“what a coincidence! Ha ha!”--they collided, whooshing the air out of their lungs with an uncomfortable “HURK,” and falling into a heap at the base of a light post. They blinked, picked themselves up with some embarrassed apologies, and launched off into the night again.

It had been a few years since Ladybug and Chat Noir had unintentionally collided in the air on their way  _ to _ an akuma. It brought back fond memories of their first adventure together, fighting Coeur de Pierre, but the impact did nothing to sober them up before their first battle. 

It would have been less embarrassing if it hadn’t  _ kept happening _ .

“Chat… maybe we should just walk,” said Ladybug. “I’m… maybe not good to yoyo.”

“Yeah I don’t have a designated baton chauffeur. Batonneur,” said Chat. “And I don’t know if we can catch a taxi.”

“You could always just sweep me into your arms and carry me to the fight?” said Ladybug. “Just putting it out there.” 

“My lady, nothing would bring me greater joy… or more terror, when I accidentally launched us into the Seine. We’d better walk.”

“Or run, I guess?”

“Catch me if I trip!” With a smile, Ladybug ran after him, towards the Eiffel Tower. Of  _ course _ it was going to be the Eiffel Tower.

Given the less-than-straight path they traveled, Chat began to think that maybe both he  _ and _ the bug might have been celebrating. He turned to her, immediately started to lose his balance, and straightened himself by means of caroming off a tree. Chat decided to maybe skip the looking-at-Ladybug part of his day, at least while they were running full-tilt towards a villain. While drunk.

“Hey, LB…”

“Mmm hmm, Chat?”

“Are we… are we both drunk?”

“NO!” said Ladybug, faux-offended. “I am just… not… sober. At all. In any way.”

“We gotta stop meeting like this,” said Chat, shaking his head briefly, before deciding that was a bad idea mid-drunk-run.

“We are living life to the  _ fullest _ , kitty!  _ NO _ regrets!” Ladybug was surprised to realize that she meant it. 

Chat smiled, beaming as they ran together to save Paris once again. This was really quite the evening for him. “You know, I think you’re right, bugaboo. I’ve had a  _ great _ night.”

“Same here, Chat.” She hiccuped. “Same here.”

Unnoticed by Chat Noir, Ladybug’s eyes traced along the lines of his body, subconsciously comparing them to the substantially more erotically-fraught scenes from Alya’s porn. And then  _ very _ consciously making the comparison.

_ You know… for all that  _ Debaucherous Laid-ybug _ was a travesty of acting and plot, they cast Chat Noir pretty well. He’s older, but he’s got the same build, the same height, the same hair, the same butt, the same-- _ she cut herself off before she make the most  _ pertinent _ comparison, for a porn star. Chat Noir’s suit was tight, but it wasn’t  _ as _ skin-tight as in the video. Nor had he unzipped his suit  _ all _ the way down.  _ And _ , she thought to herself,  _ I don’t need to be thinking about Chat’s… baton.  _

_ Not right now. _

_ No! Not ever! Shut up, Wine-Ladybug! _

_ You don’t mean that. _

_ … Dammit. You’re right. Not right now. Think about batons later. When there are fewer penises threatening the city. _

_ Agreed. Good job, Ladybug-Ladybug! Focus! _

_ Hey, thanks for being supportive, Wine-Ladybug! _

In the mind of the other side of the superhero duo, Chat Noir was having a similar conversation with himself. 

_ I wonder if the  _ real _ Ladybug would ever use a… lucky charm like that one in the movie…  _

_... _

_ UH OH BATON EXTENDING THINK OF SOMETHING ELSE THINK OF PHYSICS _ .

They ran on, oblivious to the developing awkward sexual tension. Well, to the other hero’s, at least.

The last known sighting of Grande Boner and his minions had been north of the Trocadero Gardens--it looked like his influence was getting longer. Thicker.  _ Harder _ . The two superheroes paused on a parallel street to catch their breath and gain their bearings.

“I think he went this way,” said Chat Noir, pointing down a broad avenue lined with dick-trees and cock-doorknobs. 

“Oh yeah,  _ minou _ ? What makes you say that?” Ladybug absently slapped a pendulous, waggling dick that was drooping off of a door where a knocker used to be. “Whatever could it be? Gosh, what evidence might support such a claim.”

“So rough, my lady!” Chat Noir winced as the junk Ladybug had slapped swung back and forth. “But yes, I think all these dicks are indeed a happy trail leading to the Grande Boner.”

They sped off towards the akuma, following the path of dickstruction, super-reflexes keeping them on their feet, no matter how wildly the avenue was spinning. Thanks, alcohol! Well… thanks superpowers, rather.

But alcohol wasn’t done with Ladybug’s tongue just yet.

  
“Hey, Chat… not to like, be weird, or anything, and this isn’t really topical… but… how  _ flexible _ are you, when you’re transformed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed! It's good to be back to writing Porte-Boner, and I've still got SO much left. Next time: the showdown with the Grande Boner!


	28. In Which Combat Gets... Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ladybug and Chat Noir confront the Grande Boner. Dick jokes abound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is almost *entirely* dick jokes. However, it's not actually much direct smut.

_ “I think he went this way,” said Chat Noir, pointing down a broad avenue lined with dick-trees and cock-doorknobs.  _

_ “Oh yeah,  _ **_minou_ ** _? What makes you say that?” Ladybug absently slapped a pendulous, waggling dick that was drooping off of a door where a knocker used to be. “Whatever could it be? Gosh, what evidence might support such a claim.” _

_ “So rough, my lady!” Chat Noir winced as the junk Ladybug had slapped swung back and forth. “But yes, I think all these dicks are indeed a happy trail leading to the Grande Boner.” _

_ They sped off towards the akuma, following the path of dickstruction, super-reflexes keeping them on their feet, no matter how wildly the avenue was spinning. Thanks, alcohol! Well… thanks superpowers, rather. _

_ But alcohol wasn’t done with Ladybug’s tongue just yet. _

_ “Hey, Chat… not to like, be weird, or anything, and this isn’t really topical… but… how flexible are you, when you’re transformed?” _

* * *

It wasn’t just alcohol making Ladybug and Chat Noir blush as they ran down the avenue to confront Grande Boner. Trust Wine-Ladybug to dredge up the most embarrassing questions Wine-Marinette had thought of based on Wine-Alya’s bootleg porn.

Actually… that was probably regular old Alya-Alya’s fault. 

Either way, Chat Noir’s equally candid response of “I’ve actually been meaning to test that out” hadn’t left  _ either _ superhero with much to say. But plenty to think about.

_ What could that possibly mean!? _ thought Ladybug.  _ We’ve been superheroing for months and months, and he’s had  _ plenty _ of chances to test his flexibility in the field… so he can’t mean that… _

_ So he must mean…  _

_ No, Ladybug! Stop thinking about Chat Noir being so… bendy! There’s an akuma to fight! _

Running along to her left, Chat Noir wasn’t having much luck in terms of focus, either. Partially that was related to how difficult it was to run in leather pants with a C+ chub tightening the left leg (we’re talking 78% chub, minimum), and partially that was related to his mind whirling from the ethanol bouncing around in it, and partially that was related to the fact that  _ Did Ladybug just ask if I could suck my own dick? _

_ No, no way, there’s no way Ladybug would think that! _

_...But what if she saw that same porno as Alya had? I mean, it’s possible… it had a wide distribution…  _

_ No! Nope! Shut up, self! Stop getting boners at work! Be good job, have job, fight bad man akuma bad! _

_ Well at least it’s a good thing let me say something vague in reply so that she can read too much into it, just in case,  _ mentioned the drunkest part of his brain.

_ No, dammit!  _ Zut a- _ fucking _ -lors,  _ Wine-Chat! How dare you! _

They ran in awkward, blushing silence, dodging the occasional wandering phallic phalanx. Luckily enough, the dick-headed legions were mostly content to wander around blindly, poking the knob-ends of their transformed craniums into any inviting-seeming crevice that presented itself. Mail boxes, open trash cans, gaps in bushes, and so forth, mostly. Occasionally Ladybug would redirect one into another with a gentle push on the shoulder, leaving them to founder, bonking tip-to-tip, as the superheroes approached their penile creator. 

“Hey,” said Chat Noir, slowing his roll in the middle of a  _ rue _ , which is French for street. “Don’t these cars look a little… not French to you?”

Ladybug had learned to trust Chat Noir’s instincts when there were akumas about--she immediately redirected her attention away from whether he could reach his belt with his teeth, and focused it instead on the vehicular adornments of the street.

Up and down the avenue, Hummers, jacked-up crew-cab trucks, and sleek two-door muscle cars were parked in spaces too small for them. Nowhere did Ladybug see a bus, or a sensible sedan, or a smartcar, or anything made in Europe. The cars all had bumper stickers advertising political beliefs or bragging about honors students, or the word “coexist” spelled with religious symbols, or a picture labeled “favorite gun.” One had an airbrushed painting of a sick-ass wizard on the side, casting what appeared to be a powerful spell. So, not standard European city vehicles.

Where had the cars of Paris gone? 

“What does it mean, Chat Noir?” Ladybug walked slowly down the street, swaying gently, propping one elbow up with one hand, while tapping her lips with the forefinger of the other. Looking  _ serious _ .  _ Definitely _ not looking drunk.

Chat tapped his lips with his baton, unconsciously mimicing her, and Ladybug  _ definitely _ didn’t think impure thoughts about his lips and long, baton-shaped objects. He took a sharp little intake of breath, and pointed the baton at a nearby behemoth of a motor vehicle 

“Compensation. These cars are  _ all _ about compensation, Ladybug!”

“You mean, like, financial? They’re expensive? So you have to get paid a lot to afford them? I’m not following, Chat.” How much did a truck even cost? Ladybug, being not from Texas, had no idea.

“I mean, they’re…  _ compensating _ . For a certain…  _ lack _ that a fellow might otherwise have. But that he would want. On his body.” He looked askance at a sizeable phallus dangling from a street light. There was truly no benefit to euphemisms at this point. “A certain… penis part of the body.”

“Oh… Oh!” She looked around, understanding dawning in her eyes. “It makes so much sense now…”  _ Petite  _ pecker,  _ prodigeux _ ride.  _ That _ kind of compensation.

“So you know what this means,” said Chat Noir, trying to look serious and focused while wobbling slightly. 

“We’re close,” said Ladybug, cracking her knuckles. 

“We’re clo--aww, dang, I was going to say it.”

Ladybug grinned and punched Chat lightly on the shoulder, inclining her head along the path of the street. 

“Come on,  _ chaton _ . Let’s go pop a Boner.”  _ Dammit _ . “Let’s… defeat that akuma.”

Chat hid his smirk behind a black-gloved hand as he swayed forward into a run. She followed, equally tickled by her verbal boner.  _ My verbal  _ mistake.  _ I am  _ not _ buying into this slang _ . 

She was, of course, wrong.

_ Hopefully not the only boner my mouth interacts with today _ , she thought, before mentally slapping herself, aghast.  _ Ladybug! Come on now! Concentrate! This is no time to think about Adrien, no matter  _ how _ many penises are about! _

Thinking cold shower thoughts and trying to stop the road from drunkenly spinning under her feet, Ladybug raced on after Chat Noir.

* * *

They confronted Grande Boner on the Champs de Mars, tracing a spiral of dickstruction through the 16th  _ arrondissement _ . Like most akuma villains, the Grande Boner wasn’t interested in hiding; he had transmogrified road signs into penises that pointed the way to their master. His goal was clear: force boners into as much of Paris as possible, before assaulting the Eiffel Tower. For a dingus-akuma, it was only a matter of time before the tower became the target.

Ladybug and Chat Noir drunkenly whistled their theme music as they squared up with the Grand Boner. Flanked by a battalion of phallusiliers, he spun to face them, in all his glans-y glory.

“Well, well, well, Ladybug and Chat Noir--I hope you’re ready for the biggest boner of your lives!” he began, clearly gearing up for an impassioned villain speech. 

“Huh, I thought you’d be taller,” said Ladybug, blinking and squinting bleary, not-sober eyes at him. “I mean… right? Like I was picturing someone bigger.”

“I know what you mean,” said Chat Noir. “I figured he would be at least a little taller than me, right? But he’s maybe a few centimeters under me. Kinda weird, but I guess it--”

“Hey! It’s cold out!” The Grande Boner scowled at them, fireman helmet purpling intensely in rage. “It happens!”

Ladybug turned to Chat Noir, raising an eyebrow. He gave her a lopsided smile, and nodded. “He’s right--or maybe he’s nervous?”

“Silence!” bellowed the Boner, gesturing to his minions. They moved, inexpertly bumping into each other, to form a loose circle around the combatants. “You approach me at your peril, heroes! Your miraculouses will be mine! Ha ha ha! Ladybug!” He whirled to the heroine, finger outstretched to her. “I am going to  _ force _ you into a boner!”

Chat Noir and Ladybug reacted as one, wrinkling their brows in an incredulous, horrified expression. 

“Dude! Not cool!” they both said.

“You can’t just say you’re going to force someone into a boner!” said Chat, continuing. 

“It means a mistake! I’m going to make you commit a mistake!” said the Grande Boner, backpedaling verbally--his testicleboots would have prevented any literal, physical pedaling, back or otherwise. “I didn’t--”

“Look, you  _ know _ it’s a play on words,” said Ladybug. 

“Yeah man, don’t make people touch boners,” added Chat. “Not cool.”

“Bah!” The Grande Boner pulled his blowpipe from behind his back, transforming it into a hefty, cocklike club as he brandished it at them. “ _ You’re _ the one who made it weird! Chat Noir! This boner is yours!”

Unable to help herself, Ladybug glanced to her right, to just about junk-level on her super-companion. No boner, just the regular bulge… which drew her eye a little more than usual, maybe. She blamed Kim, for his  _ extremely _ inopportune interruption. She was still a little… pent up, shall we say.

Catching herself peeping the D on her partner, her eyes shot up to Chat’s face, right as  _ he _ drew his eyes away from his own junk, and towards hers. 

_ Well… I guess we really are in sync if we both checked Chat’s package as we hear “this boner is yours”...  _

Their eyes met, they blushed--not just from the alcohol--and whirled back to the akuma villain.

“Okay, you  _ definitely _ knew what you were doing that time!” said Chat--to the empty air where Grande Boner had just been. 

“Damn!” Ladybug swore, as the ring of cocksoldiers closed in around them. “There!” She pointed--farther down the Champs de Mars, Grande Boner was running towards the Eiffel Tower,  _ devilishly _ intent on becockening the landmark. 

A faint “now  _ that _ was quite a boner, heroes!” came to her ears on the chilly November wind, followed by, “I will erect the grandest boner that Paris has ever seen!”

But Chat was already refocusing his attention onto the encroaching cockmob.  

“He  _ did _ force us into a boner, Ladybug! We have to stop him!”

Ladybug suppressed a snicker. “Heh. Boner.” She shook herself, centering herself on the task at hand. “You’re right! Let’s beat off these dicks!”

“My  _ lady! _ ” said Chat, already extending his baton to prod a minion out of the way. 

“Dammit, Chat, you know what I mean!” She flushed almost as red as her suit as she whirled her yo-yo into a line of the bonerlings, piling them into a writhing Tom of Finland heap.

“Do you really think we have enough time to do them all?”

“Well if your arms get tired,  _ minou _ , you can always use other body parts.”

Chat spluttered an abashed “ _ what _ !?”

“You know,” said Ladybug, pursing her lips and tightening her mouth to stop a smile. “Be…  _ flexible _ .” She winked at him, whipping her yo-yo out to slap across a one-eyed trouser snakes. 

By only the thinnest margin, she managed to avoid saying “WINK” out loud. She only succeeded in holding back that potentially identity-revealing phrase of Alya’s by how  _ mortified _ she was at what she’d just suggested.

_ Oh my hell I cannot believe I just said that _ , she thought to herself as Chat snorted and gasped with barely-concealed laughter, and as she choked one particular chicken. When her yo-yo string wrapped around the minion’s… neck… she pulled it taut, immediately rendering the dickhead’s dickhead suddenly and purply tumescent. 

_ Ugh, whoops.  _

… _ I guess I can’t deny I made a boner, now… _

* * *

“You must have taken quite a pounding from my phallic phalanx!” The Grande Boner posed, posture erect, in front of a multi-story gift shop near the Eiffel Tower. Though tottering, Ladybug and Chat Noir both were entirely uninjured; cock-headed minions were, unsurprisingly, not particularly dangerous. Thinking with the wrong head, as it were.

“Hardly,” said Ladybug, and Chat snickered. She blinked, thought about it for a moment, and then sputtered a quick little laugh. “Ha! Hardly. Hard. I get it.” She held up a hand, and Chat Noir obligingly fived it for her.

“Hey! That is  _ my _ motif! You can’t--”

“Oh my  _ gosh _ Ladybug, you’re so funny,” said Chat Noir, suddenly unable to be as drunk as he currently was and  _ not  _ laugh uncontrollably. He bent over double, supporting himself with hands on his knees, desperately trying to  _ focus _ even a tiny little bit. The laughter had come in waves--he’d been able to hold off the first few, but the fact that Grande Boner was so  _ pissed _ and they’d used  _ his puns _ and  _ everything _ … 

He tried to talk himself down. Even though Ladybug had just made a  _ great _ boner joke, they still had an akuma to face!  _ Focus, self!  _ he thought, over and over, in between thoughts of,  _ Ha haha haaa!  _ HARD _ ly _ !

“That boner joke will be  _ your _ last boner, Chat Noir! I will--”

“Ha! Not likely,” interrupted Chat. 

“Nice!” Ladybug high fived him again, without looking. Perfect contact, perfect volume--they were totally drift compatible, at least as far as high fives were concerned. 

“ _ Foutre-bleu,  _ okay,  _ fine _ !” The Grande Boner lifted his boner baton to his lips, transforming it into a blowgun again.

“Oh my gosh, Ladybug, I just got it--it’s a  _ blow _ gun. Like--he  _ blows _ it. Ha!”

Ladybug snorted a laugh out of her nose, but kept her eyes on the Grande Boner, as he lifted the implement to his lips. Her drunkenly-slurred warning, however, came too late for Chat Noir to dodge the missile; her shouted “Chat!” warned him with only enough time to get his staff up between the dart and himself. It stuck to the metal of his baton. 

“Attack defeated, Boner! Ha! Now take  _ this! _ ” Chat thrust forward with his staff, extending it as far as he could to push Grande Boner into the wall of the gift shop, pinning him so that Ladybug could grab his akumatized item--probably the blowgun.

...Except that’s not what happened at all.

Chat Noir extended his baton, and it extended and extended, just not in a straight line. A floppy, feeble baton sprang from his grip, coiling up on the ground like so much dejected silver rope. And pushing rope  _ definitely _ did not have the intended effect on Grande Boner.

The akuma villain cackled, and turned, racing into the gift shop, as Chat Noir stared at his rod perplexedly. His staff--once hale and sturdy and hard and really quite phallic--was now as flaccid as  _ al dente _ spaghetti. He turned to Ladybug, eyes wide with shock and embarrassment.

“Ladybug, I swear, this has  _ never  _ happened to me before.”

“Oh, Chat!” Ladybug came up to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure it happens to lots of superheroes. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Chat gave a halfhearted flick of his wrist, sending a wave along the length of his floppy baton. It was not encouraging, at least in a fighting-akumas way. Or in an innuendo way. 

“You can always just use your mouth,” said Ladybug, in as conciliatory a tone as her slightly slurred speech could muster.

Chat choked back a laugh, but it burst out of his nose and between the fingers he clapped over his lips a short, snorting burst.  _ Use my mouth! Now there’s an idea… I wonder if Marinette would let me-- _

Ladybug cut him off. “Chat! I meant to distract him! With puns!”

_ Ohhhh…. _

“You can just use your mouth until I finish.”

_!!!!!!!! _ , thought Chat Noir, like he was some sort of Final Fantasy game.

“Yep, Ladybug, I hear people usually like to  _ finish _ when someone’s  _ using _ their  _ mouth _ ,” he said, elbowing her to drive home the “I’m-talking-about-oral-sex-do-you-get-it” point. 

“I MEAN UNTIL I FINISH FIGHTING THE AKUMA! Aaaa!” Ladybug collapsed into her hands, helplessly giggling, briefly as immature as a regular, not-superheroic lycee student. She felt Chat Noir lean his shoulder into her own, shaking with his own silent laughter. 

“Oh man, we are too drunk to be fighting villains,” he said. “How did this happen again?”

“It is the WEEKEND, Papillon! Come on!”

They shared a primeval “Uuuuughhh,” and went to the door to the gift shop.

The door was the first hurdle.

Ladybug had reached out to open the door when she recoiled.

“No! Ugh! Do not want!”

“Ladybug? What’s wrong?”

“It’s a door  _ knob _ , gross!”

Chat looked down. The traditional door-opening bulb had indeed been replaced with a knob of a different kind--in this case, a reddish-purple glans with a pulled-back foreskin. He sighed.  _ Perfect. The closer we get to him, the more dicks. _

“Well…” He turned to Ladybug. “Didn’t you just slap, like, a bunch of dicks on the way here? It’s not that different.”

Ladybug scrunched her eyes shut, pinching the bridge of her nose. “ _ Slapping _ a dick is fun and hilarious, and  _ way different _ than squeezing and  _ twisting _ one, Chat. Think about it.” 

“...Good point.”  _ I am  _ really _ glad that Marinette didn’t do any aggressive Ladybug-style dickslaps in the shower, after all…  _

She sighed. “At least let’s get a magazine or something to put over it…”

They searched for the least gross way to manhandle a… man-handle, grumbling drunkenly to each other and cursing Grande Boner’s very stupid and dumb motif. 

“It  _ couldn’t _ have been an automatic door,  _ nooooo _ …” 

“Just  _ had _ to be a sexual harassment akuma,  _ of course _ …” 

“Interrupting my  _ very good time _ , like a  _ jerk _ …”

Occasionally, they took a break to beat off--with violence--the horde of transformed cock-zombies that slowly attempted to assault them. While slightly more effective than the Hipsteur’s minions, the phallic phalanx wasn’t nearly a threat. 

At last, Ladybug found a half-empty roll of wrapping paper, and used its festive remnants to cover the doorknob, finally opening a path into the gift shop. She opened the door wide--yanking it ajar hard to keep from having to touch the pulpy dingus-bulb any longer than necessary, and immediately had to dodge a flying dairy product.

“Ladybug! Watch out!” Chat Noir rushed into the store, swiping ineffectively with his floppy, flaccid baton, at one of Grande Boner’s minions behind a concessions counter. The minion had a bulbous indigo-hued face, and flung single-serving yogurt cartons with more vigor than precision. 

“Get upstairs, Ladybug! I’ll deal with this purple-headed yogurt slinger!”

“Okay Chat! Join men when you--OH! I just got it!”

“Yeah it’s another penis thing! Now go!” Chat cracked his baton like a whip, flinging the slinger into the wall, before leaping over the counter to engage in some melee. “I’ll join you as soon as I can!”

“You’d better,  _ chaton _ ! You’re way more used to handling pricks than I am!”

Upstairs--because this was a very fancy gift shop, having two floors and all--the gift shop became more of a gift boutique, with hugely fancy, bespoke Parisian gifts. Including, she noted, one of Tom & Sabine Boulangerie-Patisserie’s famed Eiffel Tower cakes. 

_ So this is our big customer… _ she thought.

Her bakery realizations had to be paused, however, as two roosters burst from behind an edible Mona Lisa display. They rushed at her, to the stirring syllables of Grande Boner’s battle cry:

“COCK FIGHT!”

Ladybug sighed. She was interacting with a  _ record _ amount of cock this evening, and the only one she  _ wanted _ to be interacting with (and interacting  _ a whole lot with _ ) was back at the party. Maybe, if she got rid of this prick fast enough, she’d be able to swing back to the party for a slightly-inebriated round two with Adrien…

The thought fortified her.  _ Don’t worry, Adrien. Don’t worry Adrien’s  _ paquet _. I’ll be back soon _ . 

* * *

“Cock!” Ladybug’s warning was almost too late, but Chat Noir managed to limbo-dodge out of the path of the phallic phowl that Ladybug had booted across the room. It flew past him, missing his face by merest millimeters, giving a pained squawk as he blinked up at it in confusion. “Sorry, Chat! It was a chicken pun!”

“Not a problem, my lady! I hope this putz hasn’t given you too much trouble in my absence.”

“You’re just in time! I’m closing in on him.” Ladybug gave him a smile, spinning her yo-yo in a defensive circle in front of her, deflecting peck after peck from the other penile rooster. “Just got this bird to deal with.”

Chat whistled at it, and the dickbird turned to him, just in time for a thick silver whip to crack out, slapping the bird silly, and out of a window. 

“Nice job, kitty!”

“Hey! This thing is pretty useful. I see why you like flexible weapons.” Chat gave his baton-cum-whip a flick, snapping the end with a sharp report. “Yeah, this isn’t so bad at all!”

“Hey!” Grande Boner’s voice called from the shadows deeper in the second floor. “You can’t enjoy my debuff! That’s supposed to be devastating!”

“There he is!” And in a flash, Ladybug rushed towards the voice, Chat Noir hard on her heels. 

“Tough titties, Boner! I like my whip now!” Chat lashed out with his weapon, wrapping it around the Grande Boner’s arm and yanking him off balance. The villain’s other arm came up, pointing the  _ blow _ gun at Chat Noir as he charged into combat.

“Banana Hammock!” shouted the akuma, and a bright yellow canvas hammock appeared in Chat’s path, tangling the hero up. His baton-whip slipped off of Grande Boner’s arm, and he flailed inebriatedly. 

“Hang onto it, Chat! I’ve got an idea!” 

“You fool!” said the Grande Boner, posing dramatically. “Give me your miraculous or I’ll--”

His words cut off as Ladybug’s plan climaxed. She threw her yo-yo, wrapping it around Chat Noir’s feet as he gripped the banana hammock, then yanked him back as hard as she could, drawing the hammock to a thrumming tightness. When she released it, Chat rocketed forward, interrupting Grande Boner’s threat as he crashed into the akumatized villain, blasting them both through a window and onto the Champs de Mars below.

Ladybug peeked out of the broken window, eyes wide, a hand over her mouth in concern.

“An excellent plan, as always, my Lady…” said Chat Noir, somewhat dazedly, from the tangle of limbs and leather and genitalia that was the pile he made with the Grande Boner. 

“I’m sorry, Chat! Are you okay?”

“Nnnnoooooo problem.” Chat sat up, as well as he was able, and shook his head to clear it. The Grande Boner vaulted off of his shoulders, knocking him prone again, as Ladybug jumped down from the second floor. “He’s getting away! Let’s go, my lady!”

They were hot in pursuit, and gaining--the Grande Boner not running particularly fast, given the testicle-boots--when the villain unleashed a desperate defensive measure with a swing of his blowgun that left tiny little wiener darts in a long line across the field. 

“PENIS FENCING!”

No sooner had Grande Boner spoken than the line of darts grew and wove together, forming a veiny, throbbing barrier of interlaced boners. A chain-link obstruction, of cock. A meter-high barrier, replete with a curl of pube at the top, spiked like barbed wire. Truly a different, and more literal, kind of penis fencing than the term traditionally implies. 

“What the hell,” said Ladybug. It was a statement, not a question. She came up short in front of the penis fence, which throbbed penisly in front of her. “Why did… this is not a very good fence.”

“I don’t know, my lady--isn’t a house with a white pricket fence the suburban ideal?” asked Chat Noir, with a wink. 

“I guess he’s a grower, not a shower?”

“I see what you did there, my lady! Now, allow me.”

Chat Noir summoned his power with a brief cutscene, and Cataclysmed the penis fence. “Sorry, penises,” he said, giving the fence a slap. 

As his destructive magic crackled along the fence, the willies composing the barrier merely flopped flaccidly out of configuration, unlacing and falling limply to the ground, rather than crumbling to dust. In moments, the Cataclysm had deflated a wide gate in the cock-wall, but left a harmless hedgerow of tangled dicks to step over. 

“You know we could have just hopped the fence, right, Chat. It was only like a meter tall.”

“It’s the principle of the matter, Ladybug. Penis fencing is always obnoxious, especially when used on a lady.” Chat extended his hand to her, straddling the floppy row of deflated dick-obstacles. “May I assist you across the genital speedbump, my lady?”

“How gallant!” said Ladybug, taking his hand and stepping as daintily as possible, in terms of both being super drunk and stepping over a row of deflated, magically-grown penises. “My hero.” Impulsively--given that her impulses were so close to the surface, floating on a sea of draaaaanks--she pressed her lips to Chat’s cheek in a quick little kiss. Nothing she wouldn’t slap on Alya’s face, but a kiss nonetheless. 

_ Adrien probably won’t mind _ , she told herself.  _ No big deal! Just playing along with his whole courteous gentleman thing! Yep!  _

Meanwhile, Chat Noir’s mind was buzzing with a recurrent  _ Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh! _ with an undercurrent of  _ That’s totally not a big deal it’s just a kiss on the cheek get over it you chump  _ and  _ Marinette would totally understand we talked about it that one time it’s cool no biggie _ . 

Chat Noir was still blinking wide green eyes, lightly stunned, when she redirected their attention. 

“Welp! Yep! Thanks! Okay! Akuma!” she said, completely normal. 

_ Nailed it _ , she thought.  _ Definitely nothing weird about all that, definitely unrelated to the porno I was watchi--OKAY DEFINITELY CAN’T EVER MENTION THAT TO HIM _ .

Both she and Chat were shocked out of their respective reveries by their current obnoxious target, and they both snapped themselves to attention. 

“BEWARE, Ladybug, Chat Noir! I have readied an even BIGGER boner for you!”

“I’m flattered, honestly,” said Chat, whose sassy instincts recovered more quickly than his conscious thought. “But I’m kind of seeing someone right now.”

“Oh my gosh, really?!” said Ladybug. “That’s so great!” And she found that she meant it, ambiguous leftover sexual tension from the Ladynoir porno notwithstanding. Apparently, things had been going pretty well with the girl he’d mentioned during the Hipsteur attack--that was great! 

_ Our little duo has been pretty lucky in love of late! I’m certainly not complaining…  _

Chat Noir beamed at her--the kind of smile that one gets when talking about someone they truly like and admire, and for whom they have a whole host of optimistic, romancey plans. “Yeah!” he said. “We kinda saw each other right before this.”

“Oh no! I hope we didn’t interrupt your date!”

“EXCUSE ME,” said the Grande Boner. “I am trying to  _ menace _ you here!”

“No no no,” said Chat Noir, ignoring the akuma. “We got interrupted by something  _ totally _ different a little bit earlier, no worries.”

_ Wow, what are the odds?  _ thought Ladybug. Out loud, she replied: “Aw, that’s still too bad! But it’s going well?”

“Yeah, it really is!”

“Hey! HEY! Pay attention to the Grande Boner!”

“Hush,” said Ladybug and Chat Noir, in unison, scowling at the akuma villain. Chat Noir clicked his tongue in a disapproving tsk-tsk-tsk.

“ANYways…” said Ladybug, pointedly looking away from Grande Boner. “I’m really happy for you! I hope you--”

“BALLS!” shouted the villain, rudely interrupting Ladybug. From the end of his blowgun, a stream of brightly-colored spheres jetted out, towards the two heroes. 

Ladybug, slightly more alert from being interrupted, juked herself out of the way, eyes wide, as the balls bounced harmlessly off of some dicksoldiers in the background. Chat Noir caught the side of one ball on the cheek, but it bounced off, harmlessly. He whirled on Grande Boner, arms spread a little, palms up, incredulous.

“Hey! That wasn’t phallic at all!  _ AND _ it was a lousy pun!” He sounded downright  _ offended _ . 

But of  _ course _ he would be. Chat Noir loved nothing more than puns--except maybe Ladybug--and to see an akuma absolutely  _ abandon _ its theme? Unthinkable. Ladybug jumped right the heck onto that bandwagon.

“Yeah, balls are  _ testicular _ , not  _ penile _ ! And it was  _ super _ on-the-nose, for an innuendo. Bo-ring, she said, drawing out the word. 

Chat nodded emphatically in agreement. 

“Come on, dude, that is  _ weak _ , in terms of akuma puns,” he said, as Ladybug set one hand on her hip, absently twirling her yo-yo with the other. 

“You really dropped the ball, in terms of plays on words.” Ladybug blinked, realizing her own pun, and caught her yo-yo. “Even  _ that  _ pun was better,” she said.

“An akuma’s quality is  _ made _ by its theme, Boner! You have  _ shirked _ that responsibility. Shirked!” Chat was truly incensed--with a hint of disappointment. Most akumas could be relied on to stay pretty closely to their theme and their puns. But  _ this _ ? Complete cop-out.

“Oh yeah? Like  _ you _ could do any better!” The akuma stood alone, unguarded by cocklings, in the empty field. Not his finest moment; such a scoff would have worked better from a position of strength. But it  _ did _ give Chat Noir exactly what he needed. 

Chat turned to Ladybug, giving her an intensely obvious wink. 

“Oh, I think you’ll find out that this pussy  _ loves _ to use his mouth,” said Chat Noir. “That’s just the kind of opening I needed--but a self-obsessed prick like you couldn’t find an  _ opening _ if his life depended on it.”

Ladybug snickered--immediately knowing what kind of  _ opening _ Chat was referring to--and mirrored her partner’s steps as he swung wide, circling around the Grande Boner. The akuma whirled, trying to keep both of them in sight at the same time, but the two heroes kept pace with him, until they maneuvered him equidistant between both of them.

“Are you saying my Balls attack had no effect?” said Grande Boner, a little nervous-sounding now, in what was likely his wisest reaction yet.

“None at all, Boner,” said Chat. “It was just a…  _ glans _ -ing blow.”

The Grande Boner gasped. A dick joke!

“Nice one, Chat Noir!” said Ladybug. As she circled the akuma, her foot bumped into something--the half-used roll of wrapping paper that she’d used to open the door to the gift shop. The one that had been more “ _ knob” _ than “knob.”

Chat, of course, was over the moon at her reaction. 

“You liked it!?”

“You know it, kitty,” she said, and Chat screamed internally. “Now show this akuma how my second-favorite pussy can handle a prick.”

“I made the top two!” Chat Noir whispered to himself, and rushed towards the Grande Boner. As he ran, he ran through pun after pun, settling on one particularly satisfying play on words as he snapped his floppy baton at the villain. 

“What’s the matter, Grande Boner? Afraid we’ll put up some…  _ stiff  _ competition?” His baton strike went wide, deflected by the Boner-blowgun, but in defending himself, the akuma had temporarily forgotten Ladybug. And she was  _ perfectly _ in position. She whistled for Chat’s attention, and shot him a look across the battlefield.

A  _ meaningful  _ look. 

A  _ pun _ look.

“Hey Boner! Don’t you know you should always  _ wrap it _ …” She whipped the tube of wrapping paper around the akuma, briefly entangling his face in winter-themed  _ papier cadeau _ . 

“... Before you  _ tap it _ !” Chat Noir finished for her, delivering a flying kick to the Grande Boner’s face that knocked his purple helmet twenty meters away, and left the akuma spinning, dizzily. 

“Give up, Grande Boner. Chat Noir is the best kitty out there--the real  _ prick _ of the litter.”

“I am so in love with you right now,” Chat whispered to himself. Out loud, he said: “Thanks, Ladybug!” He turned to the akuma. “And by the way? You’re just a sad parody, Grande Boner.”

The supervillain slowly recovered himself, casting off the last of the gift wrap to face his two opponents, who still flanked him. “Wh-what? A parody of  _ what _ ?”

Chat smiled, waiting a brief instant for the horror to build--and for Ladybug to quietly pad up behind the akuma before he replied. 

“A paro _ DEEZ NUTZ _ !”

As Ladybug soccer-kicked his ballsack-feet out from under him.

* * *

There was no recovery for Grande Boner, after that.

He lay on the ground, moaning gently. 

“Yikes, Ladybug.  _ Savage _ . But necessary.”

“Thank you, Chat. If I have to punt an akuma’s nardsack-boots to protect Paris, then doggone it, that’s what I’m going to do.”

“I’ll… I’ll never get to turn the Eiffel Tower into a huge scale model of my penis…” whimpered the Grande Boner, softly.

“Hey buddy, it’s not the size that counts,” said Ladybug.

“Ooh la la,” said Chat Noir, as he passed Ladybug the akumatized item. Before she grabbed it, he paused, looking at the blowgun.

“Hey wait--you didn’t use your Lucky Charm. Don’t you have to throw that to restore everything?”

“Oh my  _ gosh _ you’re right! We’ve always used it in fights before this. Huh. Okay, don’t break the thing yet.”

“I wonder what it’s going to be,” said Chat Noir.

“What a huge… boner…” said the Grande Boner, appropriately.

“Lucky Charm!” 

And a swirl of hearts and light coalesced into a  _ very _ familiar form. The red-with-black-spots pattern couldn’t conceal the awe-inspiring celestial geometry of the world’s most perfect peen.

A Nathanael’s-dick-shaped dildo. 

“Normally,” said Ladybug, “I would ask, ‘Na--I mean, ‘a perfect dildo? What am I going to do with this?’ But, well… look at it.”  _ I would  _ never _ ask what to do with this thing… _

“Oh, I’m looking,” said Chat. “I can’t believe your lucky charm is Nath--I mean, such a lovely looking wiener.” He whistled, feeling honored to see such a perfect pecker in Lucky Charm form. “And yeah, I mean, it’s obvious what  _ anyone _ would do with it. My mouth is watering.”

Ladybug nodded. Just holding it in her hands, she had  _ many _ ideas, already.

The two heroes shared a thought:  _ … But it’s not like we can tell Nathanael about this… _

Grande Boner’s eyes--previously rolled back into his head, in pain--blearily focused on Ladybug’s Lucky Charm. His gaze slowly, slowly solidified forms and colors from the previously fuzzy void of his vision. When Ladybug kicks your nards, you are  _ out _ . But every akuma, no matter how arrogant, really kinda wants to know what Lucky Charm they get. Even if it doesn’t get deployed.

Ladybug, meanwhile, was having a vision situation of her own. She looked around the grayscale Champs de Mars, trying to ping off anything that might work with her Lucky Charm--not that it needed to, but it’s nice to know. 

The Eiffel Tower… nothing. The wrapping paper tube… nothing. Chat Noir… nothing. The Lucky Charm… spots. Well, obviously. Her bugvision was still working, at least. She looked around again. The park bench… nothing. The gift shop… nothing. Back to Nathanael’s dick of a Lucky Charm… spots again. 

_ Huh. Maybe the charm is all I need. Maybe it’s just spotting the Lucky Charm because we already disabled the akuma? _

Grande Boner’s vision finally cleared, and his eyes locked onto the Lucky Charm, a perfect pecker perched precariously upon Ladybug’s palm. His eyes widened, and he gasped, which drew the attention of the superhero victors. 

“My quest… to show off my beautiful penis… doomed… doomed to failure… from the beginning…” 

Before their eyes, Grande Boner was enveloped in a cloud of purplish-black fog, his akuma disguise melting away before their eyes, leaving a handsome naked man with a pretty good (but obviously not Nathanael-level) package, laying motionless, stunned, on the lawn. Next to him, the blowgun reverted to its true nature--a sizeable penis pump--and a purple-veined black butterfly excused itself from its physical form. 

“Wow. We didn’t even have to break it.” Chat Noir scratched his head. This was unprecedented, even in their years of akuma fights. No akuma had ever just  _ given up _ before. 

But Grande Boner had.

“Oh wow,” said Ladybug. “The dildo--the Lucky Charm dildo! It’s so perfect--it… it just  _ defeated _ him! That’s why I didn’t see anything with my spot-o-vision! The charm was all I needed!” She shook her head in amazement, staring at the miraculous marital aid in her hand. “My word. What a perfect penis.” 

They stood there for a while.

“Ladybug…” Chat Noir lay a hand on her shoulder. “You know you have to.”

“I know, Chat. I know. Just… let me hold it for a moment longer?”

“Okay,” he said. “...but only if you let me hold it a little.”

And so they waiting a little more, nestling the dildo in their arms, gazing at the Lucky Charm so powerful it just scooted the akuma out all by its lonesome, the butterfly flapping about aimlessly, weighed down by a strand of spaghetti wrapped around its little butterfly body.

Spaghetti. From  _ Italy _ .

The night was still and quiet, for a time. Finally, Ladybug sighed, bid the butterfly a mournful farewell as she purified it, and--voice more hesitant than normal, launched Nathanael’s perfect Lucky Charm into the sky, to cleanse and restore Paris. 

“You did the right thing, you know,” said Chat Noir. “The Lucky Charm can’t stay forever.” Ladybug nodded, and sighed. Chat lay an arm across her shoulder and guided her away from the scene, as the former akuma, who had just returned to his senses, sat up to meet the approaching police officers.

“What? Where--where am I?”

* * *

Somewhere in Italy, a masked man in a purple suit dramatically used the little chain thing on hotel windows to draw his curtains closed as he ranted at the empty night sky.

“Noooooo! Mark my words, Ladybug and Chat Noir--someday, I  _ will _ have your miraculouses! And then, the boner will be yours!”

…

“Wait…”

* * *

Both Ladybug and Chat Noir wanted to stick around and gab a bit--Chat’s love life was doing great!--but they also both had a party to re-infiltrate. Independently. Oh, and their miraculouses were both about to reveal their identities, whatever.

On the plus side, they were  _ way _ more sober on the way back--the Miraculous Ladybug power had apparently purged their BAC, and the journey home was  _ much _ more direct. They did not, for example, crash into each other in mid air, not even once. 

Not that they were going to the same place or anything. 

“Hey Chat!” she said, as they parted ways. 

“What’s up?”

“I hope your friend Adrien is having a nice party!” Ladybug called as she zipped off on her yo-yo. Which was convenient, because it kept her from noticing Chat Noir’s  _ extremely _ broad grin, or  _ extremely _ red blush.

* * *

Unnoticed by a security system that was still on the fritz--apparently Ladybug had intentionally left it out of her restorative power--Chat Noir snuck into a closet window, and slipped out (after changing into jammy-jams and stuffing cheese into a tiny cat) as Adrien Agreste.

Meanwhile, Ladybug wiggled herself through a barely-ajar front door started walking through an empty foyer, but a very quiet and very sneaky Marinette Dupain-Cheng tiptoed past a computer and burrowed under the covers of Adrien’s very nice, very soft bed (after slipping a stack of cookies to a huge ladybug). She recovered her phone, turned off the looping snore-recording she’d made, and peeked around the room. 

Adrien had just come back out of the closet--perfect timing!--and the rest of the party seemed to be huddled around two boys who bonelessly reclined on the couch, relaxed beyond imagining. One with a pointy tuft of bleached hair, the other with a (currently disheveled) mop of red. 

It looks like Kim had finally finished with Nathanael, and they were both undergoing quite the little interrogation. Obviously, neither Marinette nor Adrien could ignore that. They’d both seen first-hand the devastating effects Nath’s lucky charm could unleash. Marinette and Adrien casually strolled up to the couch at the same time. Adrien looped his arm around Marinette’s waist, and she smiled.

“Boy, I sure needed that little nap I took!” she said, blinking innocently, the perfect picture of truth.  _ In vino veritas _ , after all, right?

“I’m glad! I myself… also… fell asleep. In the closet! Getting changed! Ohhh boy, so comfortable in that closet!” If possible, Adrien was even  _ more _ innocent-seeming. 

But before they could spend any more time thinking about how entirely normal and believable their excuses were, Kim answered the question that was bubbling in everyone’s minds:

“Damn, my mouth feels  _ so good _ right now.” 

Next to him, Nathanael melted slightly further into the seat, gurgling a satisfied-sounding “hurrhmhmmmhnnn hmm hrrrm mhmmm buhhhh” as he flopped and flowed into the cracks of the couch. 

They were met with a dozen little bright-eyed grins and bubbly laughs and rowdy cheers. Nathanael’s first blowjob! Kim getting to the Directory with the perfect peen! What a night! And everyone seemed  _ shockingly _ sober for how drunk they’d been from Marinette’s shots, right before the akuma attack. 

“Babe! Marinette! Welcome back to consciousness, girl! You missed a heck and a  _ damn  _ of a good time!” Alya flounced over to Marinette, vaulting over the couch off of Kim’s leg and sweeping her up into a firm and slightly jiggly embrace. She pushed aside Adrien to get at her best baker babe, but did it in a mostly polite way.

“Oh! Alya! What’d I miss! Because I was asleep! Which you know!” said Marinette, grinning at her especially exuberant friend. “Was it--wait, why do you have a boob out?”

Alya and Adrien both looked down, Alya with an “Oh yeah,” Adrien with an “Oh my.” Her top had been pulled down and her bra strap tugged off the shoulder so as to reveal a single titty to the elements. It was standing at attention, and lifted slightly higher than normal by the bra cup propping it up from below--looks like Alya had gone for a little bonus support, this evening. Adrien looked away, but Alya shrugged, unconcerned. 

“I lost a bet. I thought the Lucky Charm was going to be a cockring, but it was a dildo shaped like Nath’s dick! Wild!” Alya hadn’t noticed Marinette or Adrien’s eyes going  _ intensely wide _ at the realization that much of their fight had been broadcast live. So she continued: “... and Mylene said I have to go, quote, ‘Revolutionary Style’ for the rest of the night. It was either wear a red hat, carry a tricolor, or pop a  _ tetine  _ out of my shirt, and the titty seemed easiest. Bounce bounce,” she said, slapping Marinette’s own chest with her unleashed boob. 

  
Marinette raised a hand to her boob-struck boob with an expression of very mild affrontedness, and significantly stronger confusion. “Revolutionary… style?”

“Yeah!” Alya cocked her hips, placing her hands at the small of her back and arching herself backwards into a stretch. “You know all those paintings of Lady Liberty leading the French people to victory over tyrants? She’s always got a tiddy out. Revolutionary Style. Keep up! It’s like getting to the Constitution of 1793, or whatever, but with your eyes.  _ Wink _ .”

“O-oh…” said Marinette, admiring the proffered view. “Well… well neat!”

“Art history is… good,” said Adrien, who hadn’t really managed to pull his eyes away from Alya’s honker for long. 

“But yeah, get over here!” said Alya, straightening herself, and adjusting her shirt to more comfortably rest her boob over the neckline. “Kim’s giving us a rundown of sucking Nathanael off, and Nathanael is just about dying of embarrassment, but he’s also doing a lot of nodding.” 

From the couch, Kim was finishing off one particular anecdote: “... And when I got all the way to the base, it just  _ fit _ . Like it  _ fit _ ! It fit  _ perfectly _ ! No gagging at all!” Ooohs and aaahs followed.

Not letting them process that particular aspect of Nath’s perfect pecker, Alya grabbed Adrien and Marinette by the arms, pulling them to the circle of friends. “We all sobered up a whole bunch after Ladybug used her magic, and I have a  _ great _ idea for what to do with a party of sober teens with blowjobs on the mind.”

She tugged the two lovebirds over to Adrien’s entertainment center (the main one, at least), and then hopped up onto his coffee table. Clearing her throat, and mimicking the “tink-tink-tink” of tapping a champagne glass with a spoon, Alya attracted everyone’s attention for her announcement:

“Mesdames et Messieurs! The game… is Spin the Bottle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELL NO THE PARTY AIN'T OVER
> 
> EVERYONE JUST SOBERED UP ENOUGH TO KISS A LOT
> 
> FRICK YEAH


	29. In Which Bottles Spin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The game of Spin the Bottle commences. Some unexpected pairings emerge. Marinette has a trick up her sleeve. The Revolution continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a Tedon is to a Teton  
> as a Tiddy is to a Titty
> 
> Apologies for the delay, my dumplings. I had a relationship situation come up that robbed me of anything resembling motivation for several weeks. But this chapter is extra-long and extra-indulgent and extra-full of kisses!
> 
> Additionally, my new computer doesn't have a good word processor, so the spacing is going to be doubled for the time being. Further editing might show up later, once I get my shit properly sorted for that. In the meantime, enjoy!
> 
> There is a moderate amount of sin.

_ She tugged the two lovebirds over to Adrien’s entertainment center (the main one, at least), and then hopped up onto his coffee table. Clearing her throat, and mimicking the “tink-tink-tink” of tapping a champagne glass with a spoon, Alya attracted everyone’s attention for her announcement: _

 

_ “Mesdames et Messieurs! The game… is Spin the Bottle.” _

 

* * *

 

“Mesdemoiselles et Messieurs! The game is Spin the Bottle. The rules are simple. You spin the bottle, and you kiss whoever it lands on.” She presented the bottle, for assessment. It was an opaque bottle of sweet red something, almost entirely drained by thirsty teen partygoers. After a brief inspection of said bottle, some hands went up. But Alya wasn’t quite done.

 

“Ah, my little chickadees, so many questions. But just a moment.” She leaned forward from her perch on the coffee table, conspiratorially, as if there was anyone else who was nearly her equal in terms of conspiracy. “Let us reach an agreement, yes? The first time you land on someone, it’s a kiss. Lips involved, do a smooch, snog a little, whatever works for you. Make out. Get some hand action going. Storm that Bastille.” 

 

“What?” asked Kim; Mylene explained. Who could blame him for being a little distracted from oblique historical sexual activity metaphors? He’d just had a perfect dick in his mouth.

 

Alya paused, for effect. “Now, my tender little dumplings, this is where we introduce the advanced rules.” Several hands went down.

 

“‘But Judge Alya,’ you ask,” asked Alya. “‘What if you spin onto someone  _ more _ than once?’ And to that I reply, ‘Excellent question, my little  _ gougeres _ .’ The answer is: you invade Adrien’s closet for Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

 

A light, titillated gasp arose from several members of the party. The rest were a bit perplexed. 

 

“Hold on, Seven Minutes in Heaven is a real thing? I thought that was just a plot contrivance in TV shows for American teenagers,” said Juleka. 

 

“Technically, it only appears in 63.81% of all American youth media,” added Max.

 

“It is as real as we choose to make it, and we choose to make it  _ very  _ real,” said Alya, steepling her fingers together, like some sinister makeout-focused Lex Luthor with extremely good hair.

 

“Wait, what’s Seven Minutes in Heaven?” asked Nathanael. “I don’t watch a lot of TV from other countries.”

 

Rose turned to him, with a broad smile on her face. Of the fans of kissing who were attending Lycee Francois-Dupont, Rose was one of the elite. Kissing was her  _ cause celebre _ . Kissing was her  _ jam _ . “It’s when everyone locks you in a closet with someone for seven minutes, and you can do… well, anything! Whatever the two of you want to do.” In a conspiratorial whisper, she continued, leaning closer to him. “It is  _ very _ often the case that people take that time to… experiment.”

 

Nathanael blushed, matching his face to his hair. It was made worse when Rose added, “You know, with their bodies!” Adrien--who had thought he’d witnessed the length and breadth of the human capacity for blushing when he’d seen Marinette blush--was very impressed with Nathanael’s color, recently. Especially given that the artsy little fellow had just gotten the best-attended blowjob debriefing in all of human history. 

 

And before that, a different kind of de-briefing.

 

“Obviously we’re not going to force anyone into anything,” added Alya. “No one, at all, has to do anything they don’t want to with someone. So, before we begin, look around. Would you be okay kissing anyone in this circle?” She winked, theatrically. “Or perhaps  _ mooooooore _ ?”

 

They looked around, eyes meeting across the circle of classmates with a newly appraising light. Sure, one might always consider the  _ possibility _ of smooching one’s fellow students, but the near-certainty of a make-out is much more rare. It was a serious question. Alix probably held the record for most classmates kissed, so far, but it looked like everyone was going to go for a ride on the lip-lock carousel, in rather short order. Probabilistically speaking, of course.

 

It took no time at all. Everyone agreed with an enthusiastic “yes”: this was a great idea. Kissing is great, and kissing  _ more  _ tends to be even  _ more  _ great. And the friends had just spent a quick minute assessing the kissability of eleven other pairs of lips, and thinking about their own kissability in return. In that moment, a switch had been flipped, and factory-standard, totally stock friends instantly got some mods. They had become potential friends with benefits. 

 

_ Upgrade _ .

 

Some, of course, had a lot more catching up to do than others. Nathanael, Marinette, and Adrien were the objectively most-blushing, and least-having-been-kissed individuals around the room.

 

Some planning was in order.

 

Adrien pulled Marinette closer and drew her over to the windows--why waste an opportunity to romantically silhouette yourselves in front of the Paris night sky? The earlier festivities of the night, akuma-dick-filled as they had been, had certainly put a tumescent orientation on the mind, in certain ways. But he was also keenly aware of how cheated Marinette had been by Kim’s  _ entirely _ untimely irrumation interruption. The akuma’s focus on dicks in general--and everyone’s focus on Nath’s dick in particular--had aggressively reminded him that his very own, personal dingus had had a great night… but Marinette had been neglected. 

 

So he wanted to make  _ absolutely _ sure to make it up to her. And spending any number of minutes with her--seven, for example, for a start--seemed like it might be a pretty good way.

 

“So um,” he started, before Marinette slid her hands up his chest and tiptoed up to meet his lips. 

 

_ Okay sweet, we’re kissing now,  _ he thought, as he kissed back. Marinette pressed herself against him, little hands heating up a splay-fingered pattern of warmth on his chest, while her lips on his own warmed him up in a different, deeper way. He kissed down into her, and she shifted one hand around to his back, pulling him along as she backed up to the wall. She moved one of her hands to his hips, grinding his body into hers, and her other hand led one of his into the fold of her robe. 

 

He suddenly remembered  _ very  _ clearly what she was wearing under the robe: nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. So, the best thing to discover one’s girlfriend wearing under a robe. 

 

The grinding got a great deal more urgent, all of a sudden. The feel of Marinette’s body against his--with just a little layer of terrycloth and a tiny bit of pajama between them--sent shaking little waves through his body, and he felt himself giving a shudder that exactly matched hers. 

 

Marinette slipped one hand down the back of his pajamas, giving a glorious golden ass-cheek a playful squeeze that rocketed blunt little spikes of ooooooh-la-la up his spine and down his legs, and dramatically improved his posture--and pushed him more snugly against Marinette. 

 

She pulled away from his lips, reluctantly.

 

“Sorry,” she said.

 

“Oh definitely don’t apologize.”

 

She smiled, trying to hide her blush in his chest. “I just needed to make sure I got some good kisses in before we start playing…” 

 

“Mmmm, yes, good,” he said, running one hand up and down the fuzzy sleeve of her robe, while the other did a little light exploring inside of it. Marinette bit her lip and sucked in a breath as he roamed a little farther north of her bare hip. “I am very much in favor,” he whispered into the top of her head, crowning her with a sweet circlet of kisses. 

 

“A-and I need to get changed before we start playing,” she said. “If I know Alya, she’s going to… let’s say very likely going to involve some clothing removal. And this robe is cute, but only one layer.”

 

“But I  _ like _ that it’s only one layer…”

 

“And so do I! And I like that you like that! But…” she tilted her head back up, kissing into his neck. “It’s going to be a bit--”  _ kiss  _ “--more--”  _ kiss  _ “--fun--”  _ kiss  _ “--if you get to see me taking my clothes off bit--”  _ kiss  _ “--by--”  _ kiss  _ “--bit.”

 

A bit farther south of where Marinette was kissing, Adrien’s body was proving that it was doing  _ just fine _ in terms of circulation and blood flow. She squeezed her thighs a little more snugly around his prodding interjection and he was suddenly  _ very _ taken with the idea of watching Marinette get more and more and more naked as the night wore on. Lingering remnants of her party last week, perhaps. 

 

“ _ Sounds good _ ,” said Adrien, whose heart was definitely beating at a rational and normal pace. “ _ Yep good,”  _ he continued, articulately. 

 

_ But wait a minute _ , he thought.  _ I had a question abou--oh right _ .

 

“We should definitely wind up doing seven minutes in heaven,” he whispered to her pigtail, lips tracing the words on her earlobe. “Maybe a few times.”

 

“ _ Yessss _ ,” she said melting into his arms a little.

 

“I know you were frustrated when Kim interrupted us earlier…” 

 

“ _ Do go on… _ ”

 

“And I plan to  _ rectify _ that problem.”

 

“Mmmmmmm,” she mumbled, knees jellying as she let Adrien hold her up against him, and against the wall. “Well I suppose if you  _ reeeeeeally  _ want to…” 

 

“Oh, I do.”

 

Through layers of flannel and terrycloth, Adrien felt Marinette’s blood pressure and pulse sextuple. 

 

“W-what did you have in mind?” 

  
  


“So… um. You said we can’t go all the way to F-first Consul Bonaparte, right? A-and that’s fine! But, um, would some more of the Directory be okay? Maybe even, uh--” He raced through his backlog of homeschool history classes. “Maybe the Vendée rebellion?”

 

“Hold on,” said Marinette. She held herself a little bit closer to him, in a bodily sense, but her brow was a little furrowed and she was looking off into the distance to try to put the timeline together. The suppression of the royalists of the Vendée happened after the Directory, right? “This metaphor is probably too intricate.”

 

“Yeah…” 

 

“But… I guess that would be… okay wait, what would the Vendée rebellion mean? This doesn’t really map on directly to any, um, activities…”

 

“True,” said Adrien, as he had a panicked thought of  _ Okay how do I just straightforwardly proposition someone for a specific act oh gosh _ . “Um, er, so I guess I mean… like, the Directory--”  _ Curse you for your devotion to this metaphor, self _ “--but with my mouth?”

 

Marinette stiffened and melted at the same time. It’s not every day a supermodel volunteers himself for dining at the Y. 

 

_ Okay Agreste, you can do this. You can say something  _ really sexy _.  _

 

“I w-was thinking that I’ve kissed your lips… but not your…  _ lips _ .”

 

_ Nailed it, _ he thought to himself.

 

Marinette, in his arms, had somehow managed to go very still and also vibrate with energy and vigorously nod with her entire body. 

 

“O-OH WHOA, UH, Y-y-yes! Yeah! Oh! That s-sounds good! To try!” Internally, she thanked herself-as-Ladybug for de-drunkifying everyone with her power, so that she could enjoy this moment where Adrien  _ fucking _ Agreste asked to go down on her with every molecule of her sober body. “You should definitely yes put your mouth on wh-wherever! Uh huh!”

 

At approximately the same vertical height as that particular “whatever,” she felt Adrien get _all_ _sorts_ of attentive.

 

They were jostled from that moment of pure passionate anticipation by an announcement. It’s hard to keep a group of people focused at the best of times, let alone at a party, but Alya had a mission: make some kisses happen.

 

“Attention, my lovelies! Get yourself a drink and join the circle! We start in five minutes!” Alya’s voice rose over the giggling throng of the party, pulling Marinette and Adrien’s attention. They turned back to each other.

 

“So… for the game,” said Adrien, pulling her close, then trying to pull her closer. She just felt so  _ nice _ and  _ warm _ and  _ good _ and  _ oh my  _ gosh _ I’m going to go down on Marinette _ .

 

“Mmmhmm,” said Marinette, still buzzing with the news that Adrien intended to kiss  _ every _ available lip on her. 

 

“It’s okay if we kiss other people right? Not that I’m--”

 

“Of course, Adrien. It’s the game! I’ll… probably get a  _ little _ jealous though…” 

 

“I know what you mean...” 

 

“But…” Marinette bit her lip, considering how to best phrase her next sentence. Especially given an intensely ulterior motive. “But I mean… I already agreed that I’d share you with Ladybug, right?”

 

In her arms, Adrien’s body seemed to thrum with one singular, humming pulse, and he leaned into her with an even more insistent pressure. In one spot in particular.  _ Nice _ , thought Marinette.  _ Good job establishing cover, Marinette. DEFINITELY not obvious we’re the same person now. Probably.  _ And as a  _ very  _ delightful afterthought:  _ And he  _ definitely _ wants me,  _ and _ me as Ladybug. Yesssss…. _

 

_ … _

 

_ … I will need to bribe Tikki. _

 

In between deep breaths and kisses along her throat, Adrien replied. “And don’t forget--I’ve agreed to share you with Ladybug  _ and _ Chat Noir, too…”

 

Marinette told herself that the quiver she felt running through her body at those words was  _ entirely unrelated _ to Alya’s film from earlier. The Miraculous Laid-y Bug was just a goof, right? But to Adrien, she just nodded, smiling into his chest, kissing his collarbone. 

 

“Just can we please save our first times for each other? For, you know… the rest of the Revolution, so to speak?” she asked. “I, uh…  _ really _ like the idea of being the one who gets to seduce you…” 

 

“Of course,” he said, and lifted her chin. He looked into her eyes, a small smile on his lips, one hand on her hips.

 

He pressed a soft kiss onto her lips and whispered: “I’m yours.”

 

She kissed him back, lips shaping the words for “I love you,” and he heard it. 

 

* * *

 

“Hey Alya! I need to get changed.” Marinette leaned in close, whispering into her friend’s ear. “And can I borrow the bottle to get a few practice spins in? From what Adrien told me, I  _ need _ to get seven minutes in heaven with him. I haven’t had  _ nearly _ enough minutes in heaven with him yet.”

 

“Absolutely, girl!” Alya passed her the bottle with a wink. “Trying to get your technique down, huh? It’s all in the wrist. But of course, you already found that out earlier, didn’t you?” She smirked and make jerky-offy motion with her hand. Marinette, of course, blushed, even though her romance activities of earlier in the night were pretty widely known at this point. When you’re Marinette Dupain-Cheng, blushmaster extraordinaire, a certain level of blushing is expected when your best friend teases you about sexual activities. Appearances must be maintained, after all.

 

Marinette took the bottle and gathered some clothes up from her bag by Adrien’s bed--as well as a secret weapon.

 

There were twelve people at the party, and Marinette was  _ deeply _ invested in getting to Seven Minutes in Heaven with Adrien as soon as possible. The odds of landing on him particularly quickly weren’t very good--even worse, since it took two spins onto someone to get that sweet, sweet closet action. But Marinette knew someone who was  _ extremely _ lucky. Her secret plus-one to the soiree. 

 

In the bathroom, she changed into a sleeping top, underwear, and pajama pants, leaving the robe hanging up on a hook, and explained her plan. 

 

“Okay Tikki, here’s what I’d like you to do…” 

 

* * *

 

“Marinette: the bottle, please.” Alya called to her from outside the bathroom door.

 

Marinette gave Tikki a nod, and her tiny red friend phased through the glass, caching herself safely behind the label. For a snacky treat, Marinette broke up a cookie and pushed it into the mouth of the bottle--when having your supernatural patron set you up with makeouts, it’s best to keep them well-stocked with sweets. Marinette emerged from the bathroom, secret weapon deployed. 

 

Earlier, while changing, Tikki had given her a wink and a smile, knowing what Marinette had in mind without her saying a word. Marinette had, of course, made sure Tikki understood the gravity of the situation--and luckily enough, the little kwami was perfectly happy to act as mystical matchmaker. Marinette was going to have some startlingly consistent luck, when it came to spinning the bottle onto Adrien. 

 

“Don’t worry, Marinette! I’ll get you some alone time with your boy!”

 

“I love you more than words can express!” 

 

And then they were back to the party proper.

 

Alya beckoned, and Marinette deposited the bottle in her hand with a subtle little smile, and took her seat next to Adrien. Snuggled close, she could feel his warmth seeping into her skin through the (unfortunately present) layers of PJ’s. She smiled that subtle little smile to herself again. She had it on  _ very _ good authority that Adrien would be joining her for at a  _ minimum _ , seven minutes in heaven this evening. Not to mention whatever else they’d get up to in the future. And Adrien had sounded like he was quite a bit interested in making up for her deflected climax from earlier; it was all she could do to stop herself from creating an audible buzz from vibrating so hard in excitement.

 

Alya handed Adrien the bottle. 

 

“As Adrien is our gracious host, the first spin can be his. Monsieur Agreste, please do the honors.” Marinette bounced gently in her seat as Adrien leaned forward, set the Tikki-filled bottle on the floor, and gave it a spin. 

 

The bottle had a nice velocity to it, making round after round on the tile of the floor, and Marinette hoped that kwami couldn’t get motion sickness--but then again, she could just levitate in the middle of the rotating bottle so she was probably fine, right? Right. Tikki had seemed pretty gung-ho. No big deal. 

 

…  _ I should still get her some Dramamine-flavored cookies later, just in case. _

 

The bottle spun and spun, before coming to rest aaaaaalmost on Ivan… before one last little bit of momentum rolled it over to land on Marinette. At least, that’s what it looked like to anyone who wasn’t privy to Tikki’s sneaky little services. The first spin of the night: Adrien on Marinette. 

 

She turned to him, moving his face to meet hers even before the bottle had settled… almost as if she knew who it was going to land on. To a chorus of “oooohs” and giggles, she pulled Adrien’s lips down to her own, and he kissed her back with a sweet, gentle passion that warmed her in ways no other force could. 

 

“So lucky, Marinette!” said Rose, applauding. “I’m so happy for you!”

 

“Don’t forget to share with the rest of us, now,” added Kim. 

 

“Trust the game, tuft guy,” said Alya. “You’ll get your chance if Lady Luck wills it.”

 

_ And right now, Lady Luck wills herself all over this sweet beautiful man _ , thought Marinette.  _ I am going to make Tikki a huge cake, all for her…  _

 

“Well, while they’re taking care of that…” said Alya, retrieving the bottle. “Let’s continue, shall we? No need to interrupt our little  _ tourtereaux _ , no?”

 

Marinette was a bit too enraptured with her kiss--and the fact that even after so much kissing they’d already shared, each new kiss could  _ still _ send a tingle that sparked little flashes from her lips to her toes--to realize that Alya, to Adrien’s left, had kept the game going, clockwise. She’d have to wait eleven more spins for her seven minutes with Adrien, but for right now, she was still kissing him. Score. 

 

Adrien came out of the kiss with Marinette right as Alya’s spin was winding down, with all eyes following the bottle. He took the opportunity of everyone’s distraction to run his hand lightly up Marinette’s thigh, in the semi-public of the circle of friends, and was rewarded by a tight little gasp, and the feeling of her hand squeezing his arm. 

 

Alya’s bottle landed on Nino.

 

“Aw, whaaaat?” said Alix. 

 

“Yeah, bottle! Mix it up some!” added Mylene. “Alya kisses Nino all the damn time!”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa let’s not get hasty,” said Nino. “I’m perfectly fine with how the bottle’s doing, bros.” 

 

“You would be.” Alya pushed him by his shoulder, rocking him away from her, and jiggling her one bared tiddy with the motion. She was still going Revolutionary Style, of course. As Nino rebounded, Alya pulled him to her lips for a slow, lingering kiss. “You love me, you dork,” she said as she pulled away. 

 

“Shut up, nerd. Yeah.”

 

“Hey he didn’t even ask her to make robot noises,” said Ivan. “That’s love if I ever seen it.” 

 

“Awwww!” said Rose, clasping her hands in front of her. “It was meant to be! Even Nino’s erotic interest in Daft Punk can’t hold them back!”

 

“Okay being honest,” said Alya, holding up her hand to quiet the crowd. “...Daft Punk normally  _ does _ improve a makeout session.”

 

“Yes! YES!” Nino leapt up from his seat on some pillows next to his girlfriend. “Yes, I KNEW it! Hell yeah!”

 

“Whoa, buddy,” she said.

 

“I  _ knew _ Daft Punk was the secret to my romance styles. I hope you’re ready for me to be  _ up all night _ , if you know what I mean…” 

 

“Spin the bottle, you dingus,” said Alya, as she poked him in the ribs. “And don’t make promises you can’t keep, huh?” She leaned into his side, grazing her lips against his ear, and whispering a soft, sultry “wink.”

 

Nino blushed--somehow, everyone was still capable of blushing--and spun. Statistically speaking, there was bound to be at least a  _ little _ kissy mix-up at some point.

 

The bottle spun and spun, tracing several full rotations of the circle. Most eyes were glued to it, though almost all of them--if you knew to look--took a glance at the spinner, checking Nino out, appraising, imagining what it would be like to feel his lips on theirs. Subconscious, maybe, but still impossible to prevent oneself from doing, and still definitely appealing. 

 

Nino kept his eyes on the bottle, focusing more on being assessed for kissability than on doing his own assessment. But he couldn’t help himself as the bottle slowed. On its last rotation, the open mouth pointed to Kim-- _ Huh, okay, well at least he definitely knows what he’s doing _ \--then to Nathanael-- _ Damn, it’s been a big night for Nathanael already _ \--then Rose-- _ Rose is super sweet! I’m totally down _ \--and slowed to a stop on Juleka. 

 

The quiet girl blinked behind a veil of purple hair, slightly startled at being landed on--or at least, startled at being landed on so  _ early _ . Her eyes snapped up to Nino, directly across from her, as a chorus of soft oooohs rose from the party at large. The first not-in-an-established-relationship spin, and it was a somewhat unlikely couple. 

 

Nino had always been outgoing, and Juleka had always been quiet. They’d never been super close, never clicked, but here they were. For one heartbeat, two heartbeats, they Rose, gleeful at the prospect of anyone kissing anyone, as always, was practically vibrating in excitement. Her long-term plan of getting Juleka slowly more comfortable in public situations was about to get a bit of a jump-start. 

 

...Or totally  _ merde  _ the entire  _ lit _ .  _ Come on Nino, use your kissing powers for good _ . 

 

Alya braced her arms behind herself, leaned backwards, and planted her feet on Nino’s back, pushing him forward into the circle. “It’s kissing time, Heef! Don’t leave the young lady waiting!”

 

Nino stumbled into the middle of the circle, catching himself on his hands before he caught a faceful of Agreste-branded floor tiles. He raised himself back to his knees, dusted himself off with a mock-affronted glance at Alya, and waddled over to Juleka on his knees, looking very suave while doing so. All the laughter was probably just ironic.

 

“Uh, hey,” he said, when he arrived in front of Juleka. She was still sitting down, holding Rose’s hand. For his part, Nino wasn’t sure what to do with his own hands; he decided finger guns wouldn’t hurt. Pew, pew.

 

“Hey,” she replied. How  _ do _ you even start up a kiss with someone you haven’t kissed before? Especially if there are people around? Nino’s brain was doing it’s best inert lump of matter impression, and not letting him know.  _ I feel like I know how to kiss at least a little, right? Like I just kissed Alya.  _

 

“I’ve, um, never kissed a dude before,” said Juleka.

 

“It’s easy, love! It’s just like kissing a girl, but there’s a guy on the other end!” Rose was mirroring Alya, pushing Juleka closer to her smooch-buddy.

 

_ Okay be cool about this Nino _ , he told himself.  _ It’s her first time kissing a dude, you should really be classy about it and not-- _

 

“So do you want me to like, make robot noises or something? Beep boop.”

 

Nino turned to Rose. “Your girlfriend is a real keeper. Double date sometime?” And he bent down to Juleka where she sat--noticing her hand tighten on Rose’s--and pushed aside her swoop of hair to press his lips to hers. 

 

He lingered in the kiss for a bit, and so did she, eyes closed, enjoying a quiet moment of warm, dark softness in each others lips, before Juleka opened her mouth the tiniest bit and slipped her tongue onto his. With a little grin, and a background squee from Rose, Nino kissed her back for  _ real _ real, as the circle erupted in cheers and applause. 

 

First  _ nouveau _ -spin-the-bottle-hookup: successful. 

 

Nino’s face cracked into a broad smile as he pulled away, and saw Juleka hiding her own little smile.  _ Nice job, Nino, you pulled it off just fine _ . 

 

“Oh, hey, uh, Nino?” asked Juleka. 

 

“Yeah, what’s up?” 

 

“That selfie from earlier was pretty nice.” She smiled with one side of her mouth, and leaned up to his ear. “Beep boop vrrrr whirrr beep.” She pulled away with a wink.

 

Nino snorted in laughter, and blushed at the reminder of his naked Never Have I Ever selfie. As well as the sensual harmonies of robo-sounds. He scooted back to his seat by Alya, and nudged the bottle to Alix. Alya punched him on the shoulder. “Bien joue, Nino, my little robosexual.” Nino rubbed his arm, but grinned.

 

As Alix set up her spin, Rose turned to Juleka, giving her a little kiss on the chin. 

 

“So how was it? Was it nice?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” said Juleka. “Turns out, lips is lips. And Nino’s got some good ones.”

 

“Oh good!”

 

And then the bottle was spinning again, and everyone gave Alix a subtle little checking-out. When the spinning started to slow down, she did likewise. 

 

Max, then Kim-- _ Currently there, still doing that _ \--Nathanael-- _ Been there, gonna do that again _ \--Rose and Juleka-- _ Don’t mind if I do… never know when I’ll get tired of my boys _ \--Mylene, and… Ivan. 

 

“Yo, get me a stepladder,” said Alix. “No wait, even better, CATCH ME.”

 

Ivan was substantially taller than Alix on her tallest days, but as he stood up to walk over for the kiss, he absolutely towered over her from where she lay on her elbows on the floor. Alix, being a quick little dickens, sprung up into the air before Ivan could manage much more than a “Wait, what?” as she collided with his chest. He scrambled and flailed, but Alix had managed to snag a pretty good grip on his shirt and hooked her legs around his chest to keep herself attached, before he slung an arm under her rump for support.

 

“My hero,” she said, and grabbed his chin to pull it down to her face. Before she pressed her lips to his, she whispered, “Psst--find out what Mylene will let you get away with in the closet. I got plans for you, big boy.”

 

She pressed her lips into a slightly-stunned Ivan’s pair, but broke it off briefly as she felt the heat from his intense, Marinette-level blush toast her cheeks--it’s hard to keep your lips focused on a kiss when you’re smiling a sneaky little Kubdel smile. 

 

“Uh, okay,” said Ivan, as he kissed her back, using considerably more of his mouth than before. 

 

_ That’s the spirit, Ivan _ , thought Alix, as she pressed herself closer to his chest. Mylene gave a wolf-whistle like the world’s poofiest, most colorful 1950’s gangster, and Alix couldn’t stop herself from opening her eyes back up--when had she even closed them?--and giving her a wink.  _ Mylene seems like she might be down for a trade…  _ nice.

 

Alix was all set to rappel down Ivan like a beefy Mont Blanc, but to her considerable consternation--and an undeniable swell in the general cheering and laughter--Ivan merely picked her up under the armpits and set her gently down on the floor. She wrinkled her nose at him and gave him a halfhearted little kick in the shin, which he of course didn’t even notice, and returned to her seat. Max took the next turn.

 

It was bound to happen eventually--the bottle spun, spun, spun, and was sucked into the veritable makeout Charybdis, the snog-vortex herself. Rose. 

 

Max adjusted his glasses on his face, turning to the highly pink young lady. 

 

“Hello Rose, this is Max, would you like to--” and she was already kissing him. 

 

“Huh, didn’t see that one coming,” said Kim.

 

“That  _ is _ kind of the point,” said Max, briefly interrupting his kiss with Rose to explain. She, of course, kept kissing, but focused on his neck. “Each person has an equally likely chance to be selected by a random--oooh--” he paused to enjoy Rose’s attention on his neck. “--Ahem, a random spin of a bottle.”

 

“YEP, RANDOM,” said Marinette, unsuspiciously. Max continued. 

 

“Since there are twe--aaaah--twelve of us, there are a total of seventy-eight possible kissing combinations which--”

 

“Which I am  _ trying _ to make  _ happen,  _ Max!” said Rose with a stomp of a tiny foot. “Get back here!” 

 

“She’s very insistent, you see,” said Juleka, over Rose’s shoulder. 

 

Max prided himself on his ability to multitask. With one part of his mind, he enjoyed the kiss with Rose--she was doubtless one of the most intimately passionate kissers he’d ever experienced, and she held his face with tender hands as her tongue played with his. With another part of his mind, he thought about The Ratio. 

 

_ Now that I’ve kissed Rose, I’m going to need to balance things out by kissing another guy--maybe Nino. I find his appreciation of robots to be quite a desirable characteristic. Also, I believe that Alix vouches for his ability to OOOH _ , he thought, cutting off abruptly as Rose traced her hand down his chest and brushed an outline around his nipple. 

 

_...Maybe I can focus on the moment a little bit more. _

 

“Woo, kissing!” said Rose, beaming and blushing after she pulled away from Max. “More!” she said, and pushed the bottle over to Kim.

 

Kim spun like he was trying to start an airplane propeller by hand. Unobserved by anyone, Marinette bit her lower lip in worry--Tikki was a tiny magical creature of unfathomable power, sure, but she might _ also _ get motion sickness. Poor Tikki!

 

“Damn, Kim, really?” said Alix. “I thought you wanted to kiss some people, not try bottle based helicoptrics.” 

 

“Looks like I don’t know my own strength,” Kim said with a smirk. 

 

Only Rose heard Nathanael whisper under his breath, “That’s not where his  _ real _ strength is…” She snorted and giggled and pushed him playfully, before laying her head down on his shoulder and giving Juleka’s hand a squeeze. She had her own plans, independent of bottles. And while she thought about them, Kim’s spin finally wound down, landing on Nino.

 

_ Nice, _ thought Kim, thoughts of Nino’s selfie still in his mind (and the image itself still in his phone). 

 

“Dude,” said Nino. “Sup.”

 

“Hey bro,” said Kim. “You wanna kiss?”

 

“Sure, man.”

 

_ Sweet, _ thought Kim.  _ Finally someone I don’t have to bend over make out with _ . 

 

“Do you even lift,” said Nino, whispering into his lips, and Kim snorted, slipping a hand around his back to squeeze the focal booty of Nino’s earlier selfie. Nino jumped in a little surprise, and Kim’s hand lifted him even higher than he’d intended to go. Alya led a guffaw, followed by a cheer. 

 

Kim pulled away slightly. “I just lifted  _ you _ , bro. Ass-ways.” He dipped in for another kiss--rougher this time--and whispered almost directly into Nino’s lips. “I bet you I’m better than any robot, my dude,” said Kim. “Call me when you’re ready to find out.” He smiled at his spinee, licking his lips. Hardly suggestive  _ at all _ . 

 

Nino pulled away, smacking his lips and and staring up into the air. 

 

“Hmm. Minty, like toothpaste, but with hints of Nathanael…”

 

When everyone but Nathanael stopped laughing, and when Nathanael stopped blushing, it was Nathanael’s turn. 

 

He spun as Alya turned to give Nino a kiss, saying “Hey let me savor some of that Nath flavor, how about?”

 

Nathanael released the bottle, turning the same shade as its former contents, and conversation quieted as everyone’s focus turned to rotating glass. Other spins were interesting, of course--but Nath spinning on someone was an opportunity to  _ kiss _ . And an opportunity to kiss was an opportunity to  _ show off your skills _ . And an opportunity to show off your skills was an opportunity to get  _ one step closer _ to that celestial bell-end in his undies. 

 

So in short, people wanted to kiss Nath. Because how many times can you expect to get closer to seven minutes in heaven with a dick that could literally be heralded by a choir of seraphim? 

 

And of course, under everyone’s watchful eyes, Nath’s spin landed on himself.

 

“Huh,” said Max, eyeing the bottle and producing a protractor. He leaned over, measuring. “Nope, it’s directly at Nath. No tilt to either side.”

 

“So we can’t, like, round up and say it’s, oh, I dunno, me, or anything, huh?” asked Rose, who was immediately to his left. “ _ Pure  _ curiosity, of course.”

 

“I’m afraid not,” said Max, adjusting his glasses. “The angle doesn’t lie--he has landed perfectly upon himself.”

 

“W-What happens when you land on yourself? I can’t really, uh. Reach my own lips?” said Nath, more as a question than a statement. 

 

“Maybe another part worth kissing?” suggested Ivan, before Mylene elbowed him with a hushed “don’t show off, not everyone can do that to their own business.” He grinned a sheepish, but self-satisfied grin.

 

Alya steepled her fingers in front of her face, resting her lips on her braced index fingers. Hmm-ing lightly. All eyes had, of course, turned to her. 

 

“What do you think, Judge Alya?” asked Adrien. 

 

“The judgment of Alya is as follows,” she stated, with mock solemnity. “If your spin lands on yourself… you must strip.”

 

There was a moment’s pause, and then two simultaneous sounds: that of a collective, delighted intake of breath from a dozen, and a much quieter sound of Nathanael’s blush migrating from zinfandel to merlot. And shortly after, the soft beeping of Adrien turning up the thermostat from his phone’s app. Technology! 

 

The crowd seemed to thrum with an unspoken chant--the subconscious throbbing of a tremendous desire for Nathanael to remove  _ one _ article in particular. 

 

_ Pants… Pants… Pants… _

 

Nathanael had already stripped off his jacket during Never Have I Ever, so the pants were the next obvious option. With his cheeks advancing from a merlot to a Marinette in blushness, He unbuckled his belt, leaned back, and scooted his trousers off of his legs. 

 

Cheering was the name of the game, for a while. 

 

The extremely red young man was left in just his shirt and his undies: a pair of tight-fitting boxer-briefs in a deep blue, which did more to entice the collective D-peeping of the party than removing his bottoms entirely would have. If you looked juuuuuust right, you could  _ almost _ make out the shape of it under… 

 

“SO, UH,” said Nathanael, breaking the spell his stripping had cast over the crowd. “So do I, like, spin again, or is it Rose’s turn, or--” and he was cut off by everyone at once, with a deafening and eager “SPIN AGAIN!”

 

And so he did, with all eyes following the bottle as it slowed and pointed to…

 

Marinette. 

 

She shook herself out of her reverie--partially hypnotized by Adrien’s presence near her, partially hypnotized by Nathanael’s  _ serpent de pantalon _ , which she could  _ aaaaalmost _ see the whole middle outline of--and blinked a few times at the bottle. And inside the bottle, it’s sneaky passenger. A sneaky passenger who may have been slightly involved with this spin… or maybe not. Maybe Marinette was just lucky, after all.

 

Adrien squeezed her hand and nudged her with his shoulder, giving her a broad, bright smile that raised the temperature in the room a few dozen degrees. To her, at least. She blinked herself back to looking at the bottle, and then to Nath’s blushing features, and then to his boxer-briefs, and then back to his face. 

 

_ Bad Wine-Marinette! Don’t be scoping out _ \--before she re-remembered that she had sobered  _ everyone _ up with her Lucky Charm, and had not drunk  _ nearly  _ enough to summon Wine-Marinette back to her conscious mind.

 

_ That’s all you, me _ , she thought to herself as she gave Adrien’s hand a squeeze and stood to walk over to Nathanael. And the crowd cheered.

 

* * *

 

For Nathanael, this was turning out to be quite the night. Discovering that he had some of the primest phallic real estate in Paris was a treat, of course, and getting his first south-mouth was sexy icing on a very sexy cake. And now, the girl he’d had a crush on years ago was coming over to his half-naked self to kiss him. Sure, he’d mostly refocused on Ladybug, but once you’ve got a crush on someone--a  _ manga-drawing crush _ \--it never goes 100% away. 

 

_ And  _ her super hot and sweet boyfriend was giving him a rotating cast of finger guns and thumbs-ups. So  _ that _ was extra neat. 

 

I mean, he’d inspired an akuma (indirectly), but who’s counting? The night was looking up.

 

“Um, hey,” said Marinette, kneeling in front of him. Kim, on his right, was leaning back on his elbows, trying to look cool and giving them a little privacy in the process, but Rose on his left was turned a full ninety degrees towards him, her hands bunched into tiny fists under her chin, mouth open in a delighted smile, eyes wide, waiting for him to kiss Marinette. 

 

“Hey,” he said.

 

“So… this isn’t going to be awkward or anything is it?”

 

“Uh, I don’t really…  _ do _ not-awkward…” 

 

She snorted. “I know what you mean. But…” She was blushing a little harder. “I mean, it’s not weird that you… back in college…”

 

“Nah, don’t worry Marinette. My heart belongs to Ladybug now. I mean… more or less.” Nath took a page from Adrien’s book and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, cuz… saving.”

 

“Well, good! Yeah, Ladybug! Different person!” said Marinette, unsuspiciously.

 

“I still think you’re great, though! I mean, you’re cute and--”

 

“You’re great too!” 

 

“A-and uh, I know you’re with Adrien but, uh, if you’ve ever done any--”

 

“KISSSSSSSS,” quoth the rest of the party, interruptionly. 

 

In response, Rose squealed in delight, “No no! This is so sweet! Keep going! Take as long as you want!”

 

“ _ KISSSSSSSS _ ,” said the party, slightly more insistently.

 

“--modeling, I was going to say…”

 

Marinette blushed, and shook her head. “M-maybe we both could. I-I mean!” she fluttered her hands around herself, eyes wide around tiny irises. “For--art! For art doing art, with brush! Paint!”

 

“Y-yeah!” said Nathanael. He raised himself up onto his knees, to better match the height of Marinette’s lips. With tentative little fingers, he reached out and touched Marinette’s hips, pulling her a little bit closer. 

 

“A-and you know,” said Marinette, as she rested her hands on his shoulders. “You do set up a pretty good little date, from what I remember.”

 

Nathanael, in a true victory against blood circulation, blushed harder. “It was my birthday party!” he protested. 

 

“Nath…” said Marinette, drawing a little bit closer with each moment. “Let’s be real.” 

 

“Y-yeah, okay…” he breathed, focusing intently on Marinette’s extremely pink lips. “Maaaaybe I snuck a little bit of a date in there…” 

 

“Well, I guess we can finish it here…” 

 

“We did get interrupted…” 

 

And then finally, to cheers, Nathanael pulled Marinette that last little bit closer to him, and felt her very pink lips touch his. Gently, sweetly--pretty different from his limited experience with Alix. It was very, very nice.

 

And he was  _ very _ proud of himself for not fainting.

 

Back on the couch, Adrien was having a conversation with himself, which, if truth be told, was remarkably similar to one that Rose was having with herself. Potentially some blonde-related wavelengths were being shared.

 

_ Oh wow _ , he thought.  _ That’s pretty cute. They make a pretty cute couple. _

 

_ Maybe…  _

 

_ Maybe I could watch them sometime… _

 

_ Damn, Wine-Adrien! Chill a little bit how about! _

 

_ … Wait a minute.  _ Wait a minute _. Where are you Wine-Adrien? _

 

But of course, there was no Wine-Adrien. He was as sober as a person who had just been magically purged of his BAC. There was only Adrien-Adrien. And he was alone with the idea that he was kind of super into checking out Marinette, and Nathanael, at the same time.  _ Oh golly, _ he thought _. I may be a bit of a naughty boy _ . 

 

Rose, meanwhile, just squealed in delight, in one long, uninterrupted paean, until someone handed her the bottle for her turn, and she spun it to get her own kiss. And Adrien--just settling in with Marinette’s warmth next to him--was her target. 

 

“Oooh! Hooray! I’ll come over there, you look so comfortable!”

 

“Oh, uh, yeah! I am!” said Adrien, articulately. “Uh, come on over?”

 

There was nothing particularly shy about Rose, and she straddled the line between bubbly and effervescent even on her chillest days. But she was particularly excited to give a few little kisses to the #2 ray-of-sunshine of Lycee Francois-Dupont, one Adrien Agreste, and so she practically lifted off the ground when her spin had landed on him. She had at least a little crush on just about everyone, but she could  _ definitely _ share Marinette’s appreciation for Adrien’s floofy-haired kindness--not to mention those  _ lips _ . 

 

And since Marinette was right there… 

 

Rose bounded across the circle--her seat almost directly opposite Adrien’s--with a cupid’s-bow smile on her lips. “Marinette?” She turned to the girlfriend of the boy she was about to kiss. “Would it be okay if I took a seat for a moment?”

 

“Uh, sure!” Marinette made to scoot over--while still holding Adrien’s hand, of course--but it seemed that the tiny pink lady had something different in mind. 

 

With a dainty twirl, Rose turned around and perched herself on Adrien’s lap, leaning backwards slightly into Marinette as she did so. She leaned into Marinette more as she pulled Adrien’s lips down to her with her hand on the back of his neck, and Marinette instinctively cradled her as the shorter gal kissed her boyfriend. Unseen, Rose smiled a devious--but cute--little smile into Adrien’s lips. Alya wasn’t the only one with a kissing agenda.

 

Adrien, for his part, was too distracted by a lap full of girl, a hand full of other girl, and a startlingly passionate kiss to notice much of anything.

 

As the the circle’s whooping died down a little, Rose pulled away, grinning up at Adrien before tilting her head back onto Marinette’s shoulder and blinking sweetly up at her.

 

“Mmm, that was nice! Marinette, you’ve got a good one!”

 

“R-really?” said Adrien. Marinette squeezed his hand in agreement, as Rose darted another little kiss onto his cheek. 

 

“Mmmhmm!” For good measure, she landed one on Marinette, too. “ _ Very _ good!”

 

Two sets of eyes--blue and green--followed the retreating, pink-pajama’d posterior, as Rose returned to her spot, and Juleka spun the bottle. While the bottle slowed, Marinette decided that Rose had had the right idea, about seating arrangements. 

 

She’d just gotten settled on Adrien’s (increasingly firm) lap, when Juleka’s spin landed on her very own self. 

 

“Um,” she said, looking down at her clothing situation. She was in a bra that was clearly visible under her lace top, and her leggings. Any way she took something off, she was going to be  _ quite _ exposed. 

 

“GIRRRRL LOSE THE BRA let’s be tiddy sisters.” Alya winked at her and gave her left boob a shake--she still had it popped out from her lost bet. Apparently, she would be going “Revolutionary Style” the rest of the night. Nino--not to mention everyone--didn’t seem to mind. “Or, as we say in France,  _ soeurs du tedon _ .” 

 

“Oooh, good idea!” said Rose, to a chorus of nods. Juleka, still assessing her wardrobe options, was matching the shade of her cheeks to that of her eyes. 

 

“Um, I don’t… I don’t know if I’m ready to be tiddy sisters yet,” said Juleka. “B-but, uh, I mean, I do think this bra is really pretty, so…” 

 

With a little help from Rose, Juleka removed her (rather complex) lacy black top, leaving her in leggings and a yet  _ lacier _ brassiere. It was not, strictly speaking, nudity. But the bra was also not, strictly speaking, opaque. There were definitely hints of the Full Tiddy. And, just like that, the secretive little glances that were being shot around the room started orbiting three distinct points: Nathanael’s junk, Alya’s  _ tedon de liberte _ , and now Juleka’s lacy black film of lingerie. 

 

Some straight-up ogling was in progress. 

 

But of course, the rule had already been established. Even if you spin onto yourself and strip, you have to spin again. And so with a giddy Rose squeezing her arm, Juleka (using her other arm) spun again.

 

The bottle spun and slowed and pointed directly at Adrien. Which is to say, also directly at Marinette, since Marinette had recently perched herself on his lap. The mix-up in the seating arrangement was unprecedented, at the time. 

 

“Oooh! Ooooh! You get to kiss them both! Lucky!” Rose--bouncy at the best of times--was vibrating at Marinette-staring-at-Adrien frequencies. Her oooohs inspired a chorus of backup oooohs from the circle. 

 

“I hate to be the devil’s advocate here,” said Max. “But, to preserve the randomness of the game, Marinette’s former sector of the circle should still be respected as indicating a region to spin into to kiss said Marinette, while the 30 degrees of the circle claimed by Adrien’s seat should indicate a kiss with him. Otherwise, we descend into chaos.”

 

“I vote chaos,” said Alix and Ivan. They high fived.

 

“Hey dudes, precedent is clear,” said Nino. “Alya, babe? What’s the verdict? I mean, uh, judge babe.”

 

“More kissing, obviously. Marinette and Adrien have clearly melded into a single entity. If you spin onto one, you kiss them both.”

 

For a moment, Marinette and Adrien were united in a slightly abashed set of spluttering syllables. “Um, uh b-but, oh, uh, gosh um,” they said, in almost unison, as the rest of the circle giggled and ooohed. 

 

“See?” said Alya. “The same entity. Juleka, please do the honors.”

 

Now, Juleka wasn’t nearly as shy as she had been in years past. She could appear in photographs with the best of them, and Rose was really helping her open up to anyone in general, including everyone in particular. So she found it particularly gratifying to walk over to Adrien and Marinette as they were being slightly more awkward in public than she normally was. Kind of a nice flippity-floppity situation. Finding out that you were about to do a LOT more kissing, and so was your partner, just had that effect, it seemed. They looked at each other and shared a quick little kiss, before turning back to Juleka. 

 

“So,” said Juleka. “Who wants to go first?”

 

* * *

 

Adrien, being a gentleman, ceded the first kiss to his girlfriend. It always pays to be gracious, after all. So Juleka knelt on the couch to his right, and leaned over him to press her lips against Marinette’s. He gingerly looped a hand around Juleka’s waist to keep her in place on his increasingly-precarious lap, and at that moment realized how definitely sheer Juleka’s bra was, given that it was about three centimeters from his face. He bit his lip and hoped Marinette didn’t mind that he was having something of a... positive reaction to Juleka’s  _ tedons _ right up in his grill (or as the French say,  _ grilloir _ ).

 

Marinette, meanwhile, had the pleasure of both cuddling up to her boyfriend on said boyfriend’s lap, and kissing another girl for the first time. It was much the same as kissing a boy, but there was a girl on the other end. Kissing Juleka didn’t fill her with the same fluttering mass of non-akuma-related butterflies that kissing Adrien gave her, but there were at least a few of the fluttery little twerps in there. Same as kissing Nathanael, mostly. The kiss was warm, and sweet, and gentle, and nervous, and made her imagine getting kissed again and again by lips like that, while Adrien held her close to him and looked on. 

 

For many people, when they first kiss, there’s a moment during that kiss where both people realize one thing at the same time:

 

Yeah, they’d be down for it. 

 

And so Marinette discovered that, in Kinsey Scale terms, she was a little bit more than a one. To say the least. 

 

Adrien, meanwhile, was getting pretty comfortable with the idea of a bunch of different people sitting on his lap, all at the same time, to kiss him. He silently cursed the limits of the human lap, in terms of holding people on it to kiss. As Juleka removed herself from Marinette’s lips, giving his girlfriend a small smile, and turned to Adrien for his kiss, he desperately imagined scenarios in which he could fit more kissable people onto his lap. Maybe add Ladybug in there, who knows?

 

Marinette’s hand stroked the back of his head, tickling fingers tracing along his scalp, as Juleka kissed her second boy. Little sparking jets wriggled out along his skin from Marinette’s touch, making his kiss with Juleka subtly deeper. Juleka hummed in satisfaction, and kissed back harder. 

 

When they pulled away, Adrien noticed Marinette’s hand disentangle itself from Juleka’s hair--apparently, she’d been a little bit more involved with his kiss than he had been with hers. 

 

_ Well _ , he thought.  _ I’m certainly going to do that next time  _ she _ kisses anybody. Myself  _ definitely _ included. _

 

_ And also I will never, ever, for any reason, forget how awesome that is _ .

 

He couldn’t help the smile that split his lips. Not long ago, Marinette wouldn’t barely speak to him, and Juleka did her best to never be noticed. But tonight they’d been the three points of a sexy kissing triangle, and that was  _ great _ . 

 

“Um, thanks,” said Juleka, with her trademark hesitancy--maybe a bit breathier, this time. “I kind of have a thing for blondes, so, uh. Yeah.”

 

Adrien reacted before he thought, which is kind of what a reaction is, by definition. “I kind of have a thing for dark-haired girls, so… yeah.”

 

And at the same moment, Marinette was discovering that her reactions basically ignored her thoughts, as well, and so said “Dang. So do I, Juleka. So do I.” Across the circle, Alya whispered a quiet “nice” to herself as all three of the recently-kissed realized that they kinda had--and were--a type. 

 

“Um,” she said, before she removed herself from Adrien’s pretty-busy lap. “So I’d need to check with Rose, but if you guys ever want to, maybe, uh, do a… thing…” 

 

Adrien pulled a solid Marinette and did his best impression of Nathanael’s hair, and nodded. Marinette’s eyes got very big, and in a voice that was more of a peep, agreed that that was a very interesting idea.  _ Very _ . 

 

“Oh, gosh,” they said, in unison.

 

The party was busy applauding Juleka for her newfound boldness, and ooohing and aaahing over the excellent kisses they’d almost been able to witness from behind Juleka’s mass of hair, when Mylene took her turn--well, two. She’d landed on herself again, as well. 

 

Earlier in the evening, per Nathanael’s request to the party, Mylene had removed her bra, and had been jiggling around delightfully in just her shirt. Several people--Ivan prominently included--had bite marks on their knuckles from the  _ hrrrrnnnnnn _ reaction and intense knuckle-biting such jiggling provided. And when she took off her pants right then, she was left in a pair of snug panties that did plenty to draw the eye. Why she’d decided to--and how she’d managed--to tie-dye her underwear remained an open question, of course. 

 

She spun again, landing on the sorely neglected Alya, who’d had barely any luck on this round of Spin the Bottle. 

 

“ _ Finally _ , some justice,” said Alya as she stood up, striding over to her busty kissing partner. “Don’t think I forgot your little show at Marinette’s party, babe. Let me have it.”

 

And so she did. Mylene might not have been the most outgoing of the students, but she  _ definitely _ had plenty of time to practice with Ivan, what with their longest-running relationship. They’d been dating since college, and had gotten  _ pretty good _ at a number of things--kissing definitely being one of them, and injury-free coitus not. 

 

Obligingly, Mylene spun Alya around so that she backed up into Ivan’s chest--”Hey, are you using me as a wall again?”--and leaning up to get the right angle, pressed herself against Alya in a multiple places at once. They kissed, and Alya’s arms went around Mylene’s shoulders as she closed her eyes, and Mylene’s hands squeezed into her hips. And between them, their barely-restrained  _ tedons _ dueled like they were a curvaceous set of mammary tennis doubles, and it was 40-40 in the last round of Wimbledon. Eventually, Mylene pulled back, leaving her kissing partner gasping and biting her lip, alternately.

 

In other words, Alya had been quite admirably served.

 

“Damn,” said Alya, looking up at Ivan. “Slip me some skin, Bruel, that was an experience.”

 

Ivan obligingly fived her high, and took his turn at the bottle. 

 

In what could gently be described as not anyone’s expected pairing, Ivan spun onto Kim.

 

“Yeah, son,” said Kim. “Let me try out that  _ boeuf _ . Get a Stonehard-on going.” Kim was, as always, a little bit oblivious to the fact that he might, historically, not be Ivan’s favorite person.

 

Ivan was pretty chill, though.

 

“Alright Kim,  are you ready for me to…  _ rock _ your world?”

 

“Nice,” said Adrien, under his breath. Mostly about the puns, he told himself. 

 

The two boys kissed like it was a form of wrestling, though Kim was the one bringing most of the competitive edge to the table. No surprise there. Kim liked a competition… but he also tended to overestimate himself. Ivan smirked into the manly lips of his tuft-bro.

 

_ Well, since Kim is treating this like a contest… _

 

With that thought, Ivan shifted his weight, swept one arm around the back of Kim’s knees, and caught his shoulders with another, before lifting the athlete in a bicep curl like he was just so much jock-shaped dumbbell.  _ And  _ he kept his lips on Kim’s the whole time. 

 

Of course, to show off, he dropped Kim down a few times and curled him back up to his lips for a few more kisses. The dude, it seemed, was strong. 

 

“Dang, man, you gotta let me try that on you sometime!” said the comparatively-petite athlete. Kim was strong, but he wasn’t  _ Ivan _ -strong.

 

“Hey, if you spin on me, who knows,” said Ivan. “I mean I can bench your entire relationship, but whatever.”

 

Kim returned to his seat as Ivan sat down with a self-satisfied smile. Kim might have said something like, “I must have him,” or it could have been the heater coming back on. 

 

At last--at  _ foutu _ long last--it was Marinette’s spin. And Tikki  _ really _ sold the drama, with the bottle pointing just barely at Marinette, before tipping ever so slightly to land clearly on Adrien. 

 

_ Not right now, bottle. I'll be getting my clothes off in a more private setting.  _

 

“OH WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT,” said Marinette, innocently, as the rest of the party  _ howled  _ in glee. “Oh gosh Adrien I guess we had better go to your closet now bye everyone don't bother keeping track of the time!”

 

Her peers cackled and bodily escorted her and Adrien to the closest, whooping as Rose opened the door and Nino bowed and gestured them inside. Somehow, someone--Alya--had provided everyone with party hats and those little curly party horn things. Apparently, everyone knew that the Marinette-Adrien seven minutes in heaven was an  _ eventuality _ more than a  _ maybe _ .

 

The door to the closet closed behind them, and Marinette immediately almost tripped over a bowl of condoms and lube that someone-- _ Alya-- _ had planted beforehand. 

 

_ Oh gosh _ , she thought. 

 

* * *

 

Adrien’s closet was dwarfed by his room, as is common with closets and rooms. However, his room was on the Versailles side of palatial, and his closet matched. The main area--the closet had a  _ main area _ \--was easily the size of Marinette’s room, and plush velvet curtains in shades of black lined the walls. Or maybe those curtains were there to drape off areas of the closet--one in the far corner was pulled back some, showing open space behind it. What in the  _ foutre _ . 

 

And against the opposite wall of the “closet,” there was a full size bed, a comfortable chair, and a flat-screen television. 

 

“Adrien… inside your bedroom, is there another, smaller bedroom?”

 

“Yeah! Sometimes if it gets too big and lonely out there, I’ll come into my closet and feel all cozy!”

 

Adrien’s expansive definition of “cozy” notwithstanding, it was definitely an  _ excellent  _ place to seduce one’s boyfriend. Or vice versa. 

 

“So,” she said, turning around. “What would you like to--” And his lips were already on hers as she turned, and his hands on her hips, and she smiled as she started to kiss back, and melt into him. 

  
  


* * *

 

“Is it okay if I try something?”

 

“ _ Anything.  _ Well, almost anything,” she replied. 

 

“That… specific thing. We talked about out there.”

 

“UH HUH,” she said, clearly keeping romance in mind.

 

He had led her to the bed, pulling her back with him as he kissed her, and she had gone so willingly that they both essentially floated onto the sheets of Adrien’s backup bed in his backup bedroom. Which was, of course, absurd. 

 

“I've mostly kissed you from here--” he paused to kiss her lips. “--To here.” He laid a series of gentle kisses lower and lower, tracing along her cheeks and chin and throat, and then lower still, running along her collarbones and onto the swell of her breasts. Each touch of his lips below her own blossomed a little warm flower along her skin, and the farther south he went, the more warm and less little the flowers got. By the time he'd pressed his lips to her cleavage, she was rocking herself up against him for the last kiss, she pulled his head into her, rebelling in the sensation of his kisses on her  _ tedon _ . Her shirt, of course, had been long since discarded. She had no idea where she’d thrown it, but it was  _ gone _ .

 

“I’m liking where this is going…” she said. 

 

“And I know we got… interrupted. At just about the worst time, you know--for you. To get--to finish.”

 

Even him just bringing it up made her breath hitch a little. She was  _ liking _ suggestive Adrien. 

 

“And if you'd like it,” he said, slightly unable to meet her gaze, “M-maybe I can fix that with some kisses. Lower.  _ Much  _ lower.”

 

Marinette was no fool. Her conversations with Alya and Nino, and her experiences in the shower with Adrien, let her know that she’d probably do a better job of it than he would. But it would be a _foutu_ _freezing_ day in hell before she'd say no to Adrien Agrested _manger_ her very own _chatte_. That very thought had crossed her mind with some frequency during her private finger-seances. 

 

And he was being  _ very _ good about confirming her interest. And she was being  _ even more _ good about being interested.

 

In short, Marinette’s pajama bottoms and undies were in a pile on the floor before Adrien had finished speaking. Marinette lay completely bare in front of him for the second time that night, this time in his bed.  _ Yes good perfect.  _

 

Adrien was clearly enjoying the view, given how much he was testing the tensile strength of his boxer-briefs. It made for a lovely sight for Marinette as she gazed down herself to see Adrien’s manful exclamation point introducing itself from near her thighs. She lay her hands on his shoulders. 

 

“Yes.  _ Yes _ . Kiss me, Adrien,” she said, and pressed gently against him, guiding his lips--and the kisses they produced--lower and lower. And lower. 

 

She gasped. 

 

* * *

 

Adrien’s kisses traced a quick, sinuous path down her body, between her breasts and lower, tickling left across her ribs and then crossing right over her belly to to navel to the crest of her hipbone. After about the belly button area, she'd stopped breathing and instead got her air by a constant, desperately needful series of gasps. His hands traced along her sides, never touching more lightly than a kwami’s kiss, but impossible to ignore. His lips were warm and left her tingling down to her bones each time he pressed them to her skin, and by the time he pressed his lips to the sensitive skin low on her belly, right above the trimmed line of her curlies, she felt those trembles and tingles magnify and reflect in the core of her body, as a little earthquake centered on her spine and shaking everything it touched. Though it was more emotional than purely physical--this was  _ quite _ a way to be exposed, after all--Adrien still had a lovely, jiggly view. But of course, he was a little bit too focused to enjoy it to the fullest. 

 

As Marinette curled her toes and balled her hands into fistfuls of the sheets of his secondary bed, Adrien was trying to  _ focus _ . Marinette was already in a quivery way, so he had to be doing something right, and he hadn't even gotten completely  _ bijou- _ wards. 

 

With one hand he shifted Marinette’s leg to the side--disentangling her toes from the linens in the process--and moved himself to a location that was rapidly becoming his favorite: between her thighs. 

 

She felt his breath touch her and she mmmmed a little mmmm that tilted up into a close-mouthed squeal as she felt him exhale a soft, warm wave lower and lower on her. After a grueling, brief infinity she felt his breath ruffle the short, soft curls decorating her lips, and she gasped as she balled her hands in his hair, bringing his face forward into her for their most intimate kiss of the night.

 

* * *

 

The taste reminded Adrien of something, but he wasn't sure quite what. Whatever it was, he was a fan. After all, it had a  _ wonderful _ sensory association in his mind: so far, every time (which is to say, once) that he’d tasted Marinette like this, he was treated to a whole symphony of extremely good sounds. 

 

He traced his own lips delicately across Marinette’s, and savored the feeling of her hands clutching in his hair, and her hips squirming under his hands, and her voice yeeping and gasping and moaning in fits and starts with even the tiniest motion. When he had been in a passionate encounter with Marinette before, there had been plenty of wetness--it was a shower, after all. But this time, there was no doubt that the slick heat was all hers. 

 

He inhaled, loving every sense, and slid the tip of his tongue in a languorous journey along the gentle fold of her. 

 

She seemed to be vibrating at a higher and higher frequency the farther north his tongue traced into her cleft. Her hips shook with what he definitely hoped were the best kind of spasms and her breath was more raggedy than certain brand-name dolls from the mid-century. He finally reached a proud little bulge just slightly below the crest of her lips, and he kissed it more deeply, knowing, just  _ knowing _ , that  _ this _ would finally give her the release she'd been denied earlier. 

 

So of course, imagine his surprise when Marinette pushed him off with a yelp. 

 

* * *

 

_ Too much too much aaaaagh oh gosh oh no aaaa too much, _ Marinette remembered thinking to herself in the split-instant before she accidentally rocketed her boyfriend and recent mouth-hug-giver off of his secondary bed. Her hands, which until recently had been grabbing fistfuls of his glorious golden mane, were now empty, and her legs, freshly disentangled from Adrien’s back, had unconsciously juked her to the side. She was half-rolled-up into the comforter, and discovered that her face was pressed into the right angle where the bed met the wall--presumably, where she would be safe from  _ bijou _ -based overstimulation. 

 

_ Ooookay, okay, simmer down, little  _ bijou,  _ it's fine you're fine, we escaped, but we didn’t really even need to, _ she thought,  _ you've had a big day is all.   _

 

_!!!!!!!!!,  _ replied her clitoris.  _!!!!!!! !!!!?  _

 

_ Shhh, Clit-Marinette. Just take a moment.  _

 

Which was when she spied a golden mop peeking over the edge of the bed with wide green eyes. 

 

“OH MY GOSH ARE YOU OKAY? I’M SO SORRY!”

 

For a moment, neither Adrien nor Marinette reacted, waiting, breath-held, for the other to reply. Eventually, it became exceedingly clear that both of them had said the same thing, at the same time, for what were starkly different reasons. They blinked big blue and green eyes, respectively, at each other, slightly startled still by their sudden departure from cunnilingus, and not quite sure how to return to workable communication.

 

Adrien, perhaps because of the more familiar surroundings, collected himself first.

 

“Marinette, are you okay? Did I hurt you? I’m so sorry!”

 

“W-what?” she asked, having toned down the clitoral feedback from an 11 to a more manageable 8. “I--uh, I mean, are  _ you _ okay? I kicked you off the bed! I’m so sorry!”

 

“But when I was--”

 

“Oh no! You were--I just--”

 

“And I thought, I went too far! Maybe I--”

 

“It’s not that! Seriously! I just got too--”

 

And it went back and forth like that, for a good seventh of their allocated minutes in heaven, before they managed to both crawl slowly back into the middle of the bed. Adrien wrapped his arms around her, and Marinette lowered her head into his chest with a little sigh. He sighed, too.

 

“You’re sure I didn’t hurt you?”

 

“No! I mean, yes! I mean, no, you didn’t. You didn’t hurt me. It was just… Whew. It was kind of a lot. All at once.” She was finding it hard to put into words--when he’d fingered her beforehand, and when she’d been playing with herself, it hadn’t been nearly so… jarring. But this time, his tongue--which she loves _ very much _ \--had a distinctly different quality. “It wasn’t weird… it was just… I don’t know!”

 

“Did I go too hard, or maybe--”

 

“No no! It’s hard to explain…”

 

“I just wanted to try to make you feel good, since we only have seven minutes in here--”

 

And that was it. At least part of it. They both snapped to realization in the same moment, Marinette raising her head off of Adrien’s chest, right as he bent down with a little delighted gasp to look at her. Her head bumped his chin, clicking his teeth together, and sending a much less pleasant explosion of sensation across Marinette’s scalp.

 

What’s the most important thing in the world?  _ Timing _ . 

 

“Owww…” said Marinette. “Sorry… butterfingers. Or, well, butter… head?”

 

“I’m durable,” said Adrien. “Don’t worry.”

 

Marinette leaned in--slowly this time--to give his poor abused chin a little kiss. “I think, Adrien, that we maybe went a little too fast with the buildup, here.”

 

“Agreed. How quickly we ignore the lessons of Alya and Nino.”

 

“I’m a fool,” said Marinette. “A fool who wanted to feel your--” She couldn’t bring herself to say _tongue on my_ bijou. “--to feel you _right away_.”

 

“We’re  _ both _ fools. But we’re very cute fools,” he replied. “Do you… want to maybe give it another try?”

 

Marinette was pulling him closer to her lips, letting him feel her nodding as she kissed him. “Let’s both try to go a  _ tiny _ bit slower, okay?”

 

“Anything,” he said, and traced his hands down her cheek to her shoulder, to her ribs, to her back, and he drew her into a tighter and warmer embrace. This time, he savored the journey as much as he could. 

 

But… seven minutes still isn’t much time.

 

* * *

 

From the other side of the closet, a few slightly muffled “Yeep!”s and “Aaaaa!”s and “oooOOO hOO HOOOooo”s sounded. Overstimulated noises, but not entirely in a bad way. Just a  _ little  _ too sensitive, maybe. The first batch had been much more yelpy; this new batch was  _ definitely _ showing signs of improvement.

 

When Alya’s timer eventually beeped right outside the door, the yelps and gasps and sounds from the closet had gotten more  _ consistent _ , but were definitely more on the “Oh gosh this is a bit much” side of things compared to the “what excellent oral sex” side of things. Clearly, there was some work to be done. 

 

And so Marinette and Adrien talked about how it went, as they both re-clothed themselves to rejoin the party--and as Adrien tactfully removed the Marinectar from his lips and chin.

 

“I’m sorry I haven’t gotten it right yet,” said Adrien, preparing to escort a freshly-dressed Marinette out of the closet. She was walking a little funny, and her eyes were especially blinky--the cost of his maladroit cunnilingus, it seemed. He sighed. “But… maybe more practice later?”

 

“Y-yes! Yeah! I… liked it but it was just… well.”

 

“I’ll do better next time! Maybe there’s a book I can read?”

 

“Yeah! I know you will!” said Marinette. She tugged on his shirt, before they left the comparative privacy and safety of the closet. “Um… so… did  _ you  _ like it?”

 

Adrien turned towards her, taking her hips in his hands and drawing her close for a kiss. She tasted a bit of herself on him--kind of neat. 

 

“I… sort of really liked it. I would really, definitely like to try that again,” he said. He was beaming, and that smile and that sentiment kept Marinette’s overtaxed nethers bubbly-warm, despite their abortive oral attempts. “I learn pretty quickly, so… so I think I can do better next time.”

 

Marinette smiled. “M-maybe we skip the timer next time?”

“Yeah… maybe…” said Adrien, shaking his head, but with a smile on his face. “Seven Minutes in Heaven is maybe not the best time for a totally  _ new _ event in the Revolution. Maybe.”

 

“Just maybe,” agreed Marinette, smiling back up at him, and hooking her fingers into his pajama bottoms. “But isn’t it that old cliche? Those who don’t study history are doomed to repeat it?”

 

“My kind of doom!”

 

“And mine.”

 

“But yeah...I really should have researched this further,” said Adrien.

 

_ Research. Of course.  _ “W-well, yeah! Research good! And, you know, maybe I could do a little research, too…”

 

They left the closet with Adrien stuttering and blinking and drinking the implications of  _ that  _ particular statement. The rest of the party cheered, celebrating the first seven minutes in heaven of the night. Many an eyebrow was raised, and the party continued with just a bit of a break for party necessities.

 

Marinette waited until everyone was refilling their drinks and secreted away the most important accessory for the game of Spin the Bottle. She snuck to the corner to “practice her spin,” and made a brief proposition to a certain someone who was currently residing in the game’s titular spinning device. She leaned close, whispering into the mouth of the bottle:

 

“Tikki! Can you make Adrien land on Rose next? It’s important! For romance!”

 

“Drop some more cookie crumbs in here and you have yourself a  _ deal _ , Marinette! And some Camembert, too!”

 

“Yes! Definitely!” Marinette nabbed a few cookies and broke them up, crumbling them into the wine bottle’s mouth. She was focused enough that she didn’t even think about why Tikki had suddenly requested fragrant cheese, in addition to baked goods.

 

She replaced the bottle, and went to proposition a certain tiny blonde lady.

 

“Say, Rose…” said Marinette, sidling up to the blonde. “If you just  _ haaaaappen _ to have seven minutes in heaven with Adrien, I don’t suppose you could, uh, maybe give him some pointers on how to… um…” 

 

“Of course, Marinette!” said her elfin little classmate. “I’d love to help Adrien improve his tongue skills. It sounded like he ramped up the flower-tickling  _ way _ too fast, in there!”

 

“You could tell from the  _ sound _ ?” Marinette felt her eyes widen, blinkily.

 

“People with  _ bijous  _ tend to make a specific type of sound when there’s too much going on. Especially for the first time with someone! You learn to listen for these things.”

 

Marinette blinked. “You could tell the pussy eating was amateur from how I  _ squealed _ ?!”

 

“Oh, sweet Marinette, I could probably tell how close your  _ period  _ is from that. Don’t worry! I’ll give Adrien a little lesson! I think I can probably get Juleka to help, too,” she said, with a big blue wink. “After all--a little demonstration could be good for all of us!”

 

Marinette spent a few good moments standing there, blinking, a bit shocked that Rose was so  _ willing _ to give Adrien a front-row seat to a very private demonstration. Blink, blink, blink, before she was interrupted.

 

“By the way,” said Rose, calling out over her shoulder from where she’d wrapped her arm around Juleka. They were by the pastries. “Two weeks from Monday.”

 

“What? Two weeks from Monday? What do you--” and then she did a little calendar math in her head. “Oh my… oh my heck! Rose! How? What? You knew when from the  _ sounds!? _ ”

 

Rose winked, blew her a kiss, and whispered something in Juleka’s ear that made her straighten up and flick her eyes to Adrien. Juleka nodded, squeezed her tiny little girlfriend tighter, and glanced back to Marinette. Marinette could do nothing but stare.

 

But then again… if Rose could accurately guess your cycle from just the sound of you getting eaten out, then she was some kind of mystical pussy whisperer. And so she would  _ definitely _ know how to mold a young man just barely dipping his fingers (so to speak) into the Vendee rebellion.

  
It looked like Adrien would get to do some  _ very _ thorough research.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh la la!
> 
> Thank you for your patience! There's more party to come, but eventually, even this long-ass party will end.


	30. In Which We Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette manages to set Adrien up with a couple of tutors for a very specific type of instruction. Of course, that means that the rest of the party has seven minutes to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *THIS CHAPTER IS QUITE RIBALD, AND CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT*   
> *BUT IT DOESN'T HAVE POV CHARACTERS DIRECTLY SEXING IT UP*
> 
> You may note that the spacing is a little wonky on this chapter and the last one. Easy explanation--I write in Google Docs and my new computer doesn't have Word, so lacks an easy way to reformat it like I used to. Nuts!
> 
> Regardless, I hope you enjoy, my little pierogis.

_ Rose winked, blew her a kiss, and whispered something in Juleka’s ear that made her straighten up and flick her eyes to Adrien. Juleka nodded, squeezed her tiny little girlfriend tighter, and glanced back to Marinette. Marinette could do nothing but stare. _ __   
_   
_ __ But then again… if Rose could accurately guess your cycle from just the sound of you getting eaten out, then she was some kind of mystical pussy whisperer. And so she would definitely know how to mold a young man just barely dipping his fingers (so to speak) into the Vendee rebellion.

_   
_ _ It looked like Adrien would get to do some  _ **_very_ ** _ thorough research. _

* * *

 

Alya jiggled her  _ tedon _ to grab everyone’s attention--she was  _ still _ somehow the only person with actual nudity going on--and summon the party back to the circle of makeouts. 

 

“ _ Garcons _ and  _ filles _ , let’s reconvene! Top off your beverages and stretch your lips!” She gave her bestie a wink. “Marinette, that goes double for you.”

 

(Unobserved, a tiny red bug in a wine bottle toasted Alya’s dirty joke with a broken-up bit of cookie, which was only slightly soaked in wine.)

 

Adrien navigated his way back towards his girlfriend--she was easy to find, given that Alya’s comment had turned her into a glowingly-red-cheeked beacon--and pressed his lips to her (very warm) cheek. He could still catch a little bit of her scent on himself. 

 

“Shall I escort you back to the couch?”

 

Marinette nodded, and toned the blush down a little bit, snaking her arm inside his proffered elbow. There was still a satisfied sense of intimacy she got, every time she touched him like this--simple, little, familiar touches, that she wanted more and more and more of. 

 

But, she had quite an idea for Adrien’s future. And that idea was considerably less simple, little, or familiar.

 

“So, um, Adrien… if you just so  _ haaaaappen _ to get a seven minutes in heaven with someone who, um, knows a lot about… lady parts… and… mouths…” she began. “Do you think--”

 

“Oh wow, that would be great,” said Adrien. “I’d love to ask them how to get better!”

 

_ Dear whoever’s out there, _ thought Marinette _ , Thank you for providing the world with Adrien Agreste. And I’m not just saying that because he wants to get really good at oral for me! But that definitely helps.  _ Externally, she squeezed his arm with hers, smiled, and graciously allowed him to lead her back to their seats. 

 

“Soooooo,” said Alya. “How was it?”

 

Adrien and Marinette both blushed full across their faces with an almost audible sound, like flicking a tiny embarrassment light switch. Alya at least did them the courtesy of changing the topic before they even attempted to stammer out a reply--not that anyone would have heard what they said over the sound of all the laughter.

 

“Adrien! Big night for you, host-boy. It’s your spin!”

 

Marinette crossed her fingers (just in case, just to be double-sure) as Adrien (still blushing) bent over to give the bottle a whirl. Side conversations hushed as all attention focused on the spinning quarter-jeroboam. 

 

A hush fell as everyone held their breath waiting for who the bottle would land on--later in the game, the likelihood of another closet-hookup was dramatically increased. And that meant seven minutes of quality time with the prettiest boy in school. The bottle slowed to a slightly wobbly stop pointing directly between Rose and Juleka’s seats. And Rose had, of course, draped her legs across Juleka’s lap, to better cuddle up on her. 

 

“Damn, boy!” said Nino. “Back to back! You gotta go for a hat trick, ya lucky gus.”

 

“I think that’s pretty obviously on Rose and Juleka, both,” said Marinette, innocently, and with no cunnilingus-education-based ulterior motive at all. “I guess that means…” 

 

“All three of us can go have seven minutes in heaven! He’s kissed us both, after all!” Rose said with a subtle, sly little wink to Marinette. She swung her legs off of Juleka’s lap and began bouncing gently in place. “Oooh, what a coincidence! I was just talking to Marinette about--”

 

“AH hA HA YEP, oh boy, I guess you’d better get in there!” said Marinette, cutting Rose off in her trademark smooth and gentle way. “Oh wow seven minutes in heaven I sure had a great time be sure you treat them real well Adrien and ha ha ha just remembered something keep in mind what we talked about ha ha yep!”  _ Nailed it _ . _ Smooth as silk. _

 

Juleka was busy blushing, as she was being pulled along by Rose, while the rest of the class “ooohed” and “aaaahed” and giggled about Adrien’s preeminent luck. For Adrien’s part, he very quickly realized that his last conversation with Marinette--about  _ research _ \--might be a much more immediate and practical lesson than he had originally considered.  _ What are the odds? _ And from the fluttering in his stomach, he got the idea that this was going to be a very, very informative lesson. Especially the way that Juleka was eyeing him.  _ All _ of him.

 

There might just be a baguette price to be paid later on.

 

Rose took his hand in her free one and led him towards his closet. He glanced over his shoulder at his girlfriend, making sure this was all okay. After all, their relationship was  _ new _ , if also intense.

 

Marinette caught his eye immediately, returning his shy smile with her more eager one, and gave him a nod. There was something of a mischievous twinkle in her eye--as well as a more subtle expression of one very specific hunger. 

 

She silently mouthed a short phrase to him: “I hope you like the lesson.”

 

If he was about to receive a lesson, he planned to stay  _ rapt _ . 

 

Before the closet door closed behind all three of them, everyone heard one last thing from Rose: 

 

“Juleka, let’s play rock-paper-scissors! Or as we say in France,  _ rochambeau _ . Winner gets to be the model!”

 

* * *

 

Nobody, of course, noticed what a surprisingly sudden coincidence all of this was. 

 

“Aren’t you a little jealous, Marinette?” asked Mylene, back in the party-at-large. “I mean… you know.”

 

“I think Adrien’s in very good hands,” she said. Internally, she was a little nervous, but definitely self-aware enough to realize that the trembling energy she felt in her bones and belly was something distinctly and substantially more pleasant than jealousy. 

 

The experience was like what she felt when a plan to defeat an akuma was  _ just _ falling into place--a thrilling, full-body excitement she could feel like a second heartbeat twice as fast in her nerves. She deeply, deeply enjoyed how she had managed to deploy Rose for a singular purpose: eat that pussy  _ real  _ good. 

 

“I trust Adrien, and Rose and Juleka, too. Plus, I mean, that’s how the game goes! I could wind up having some fun in there, too.” She found herself flicking her eyes to the bottle on the floor, but flicked them right back--uncertain what kind of message that was sending to Tikki. And uncertain if she minded. 

 

“That’s the idea, girl!” said Alya. “Kisses are the best.” 

 

“They are!” And everyone else agreed, too. 

 

“So… what do you do outside the closet when someone’s seven minutes in heavening?”

 

“Mostly we speculated on what was going on,” said Kim. “Rose pretty much nailed it. Awkward mouth stuff.”

 

Marinette blushed, obviously, but Alix continued. “Hey, who can blame you two? You’re pure and fresh as the driven snow. It’s up to us to corrupt you, you little dumplings.”

 

Alya whispered something under her breath that might have been “Working on it…” or might have been something else. Nath raised his hand, and Marinette looked around, didn’t see any other takers, and called on him. “What’s up, Nath?”

 

“Uh, Max asked me to make an interpretive drawing of what was probably going on, based on Rose’s speculation. I kinda… well here’s what I got.”

 

Nathanael handed over his interpretation, and Marinette took it hesitantly. What would he even be--

 

She blinked, slightly wide-eyed at the drawing. A long series of seconds passed in intent silence--studious, on Marinette’s part, and giddy, on the part of the rest of the party.

 

“Nath,” she said, at last.

 

“Uh huh?”

 

She turned the sketch back to face him, and pointed at Nathanael’s depiction of her, mid-cunnilinguistics.

 

“Why am I going Super Saiyan?”

 

* * *

 

“Paper!” 

 

“Scissors.”

 

“Gasp! My favorite!”

 

No sooner had the closet door closed behind them than Rose and Juleka put their fists to work, by which I mean rock-paper-scissors. Rose had thrown paper, and Juleka had thrown scissors. As it is generally accepted that scissors cut paper, Juleka won, and got to be the model for Rose’s little lesson. 

 

Rose grabbed Juleka’s hand as the taller girl gave Adrien a slightly wide-eyed look--apparently she had a better idea of what was about to happen than Adrien did. But she was quickly tugged away as a tiny blonde blur hauled her bedwards. 

 

“Adrien! You had a whole bed in here! That is so exciting! This closet is  _ definitely _ the best for playing spin the bottle. Juleka, have a seat! Right there. I’m going to let Adrien know what’s happening.” Rose arranged Juleka on the bed to her satisfaction, and she ran fingers through her purple streak before folding them in her lap, not quite sure what to do with them.

 

“Wait, what do you mean?” asked Adrien.

 

“Hush, my little pupil,” said Rose, reaching up to place a finger against his lips. “A little bird told me that you might be interested in seeing some good ways to make a certain lady happy, with your mouth! So, Juleka and I volunteered to provide a little demonstration. Does that sound good?”

 

“Um! Uh!” said Adrien, uncertain how to respond to that. “Do you mean you’re going to…”

 

“I’m going to Juleka a  _ very _ detailed kiss on the personal bits! Cunnilingus, you might call it. Or as we say in France, brouter-minou!”

 

_ Minou _ ? thought Adrien.  _ I guess it’s not much of a leap from Chat…  _

 

_ … Still weird to hear someone besides Ladybug say that, and also not in reference to me… _

 

_ … But yeah I’m not complaining _ . 

 

“Take notes, Adrien! Mental or otherwise, I don’t mind!” Rose gave him a shining smile and knelt on the bed next to Juleka. She curled her hands gently around the back of Juleka’s neck, and drew the taller girl into a deep kiss. Adrien saw Juleka’s fingers bunch up the fabric of her pants, and heard a soft sigh from the depths of the kiss. No surprise there--he already knew how well both of them could kiss. 

 

Rose pulled away and lay her hand on Juleka’s cheek, making gentle, but direct, eye contact with her partner. 

 

“Is this still okay with you? With you being the model? We don’t have to if you’re uncomfortable.”

 

Juleka ducked her gaze behind her purple streak, but peeked back out under it shortly, looking first at Rose and then tracing her gaze along Adrien’s body. In particular, the lower bits. Adrien looked down himself, himself, and noticed that,  _ of course _ , there was at least one increasingly prominent body part that tended to draw the eye. He tried to cross his legs, with limited success, given that he was standing up.

 

Juleka nodded, looking back to Rose. “I-I’m fine with it. Just, you know… A little nervous. And, um,” she said, looking through her eyelashes up at Adrien. “There’s the matter of, er… my fee.”

 

“Fee?” asked Adrien. Rose grinned, and Juleka blushed and averted her eyes.

 

“Can I squeeze it?” she asked, after a moment.

 

“Huh?” asked Adrien. “Squeeze what?”

 

“Juleka has sort of developed a taste for them, Adrien!” said Rose, beaming as she looked at her girlfriend and ran her hand up and down her back in light little strokes. “Ever since she got a little sample-grab of Ivan earlier, and took a look at Nathanael, I think she’s got a little bit of an interest! We’ve all been there.”

 

“Wait do you mean--”

 

“Squeeze your… you know. Your… dick. I just want to squeeze it a little, maybe slap it gently so it wobbles side to side. You know. That kinda thing. Just… just a little.” Juleka’s words came out in a stumbling, awkward rush, syllables tripping over themselves as she curled her fingers tighter into the bedsheets and made progressively less and less eye contact. She released some of the sheets to flip one hand back and forth in the air. “Not to, uh, make it weird or anything.”

 

“Oh, gosh,” he said, externally, while internally he said  _ That is totally fine _ . “I’m--okay, sure! Yeah!” he laughed nervously. It isn’t every day you get fondled by two lovely ladies.

 

“And hey while  _ I’m _ here…” added Rose. “Count me in on that, too.”

 

“Oh, my…” said Adrien. “I… let me make sure that’s okay with Marinette, alright?”

 

“Of course!” said his two lady companions. As Adrien pulled out his phone, Rose was already turning back to her girlfriend, and letting her hand trace down from her cheek to the lacy black bra that was all she was wearing above the waist.

 

Adrien's phone was already vibrating when he reached into his pocket. Lucky timing. 

 

* * *

 

**Marinette** _ : I hope you have fun! Don't do anything you haven't done with me, and be nice to the sweet ladies. _

 

**Adrien** :  _ Oh gosh! Okay! _

 

* * *

 

_ Well, there we go _ , thought Adrien, as he began to turn his eyes back to the ladies in question on the bed.

 

"Hey Juleka, Marinette said that would be fine if…” 

 

His eyes--which by the way were emerald as fuck--snapped to the two figures on the bed. In the brief interim where he had been reading and processing Marinette’s text, Rose had made some  _ significant _ headway. Juleka’s pants were currently decorating the headboard, and her bra had been deftly discarded to dangle off of the side of the bed. Rose and Juleka were each cupping one of Juleka’s breasts, leaving the taller gal in a pair of lacy black underthings and two palms for a bra, and nothing else but a purple-streaked sheet of hair in front of one eye.

 

Adrien found it slightly impossible to find the best place to look. 

 

“Oh that’s good!” said Rose, in reply to his earlier, forgotten statement. “Do you want to get started?”

 

* * *

 

“Hey while we wait--still got a few minutes left--want to do another spin? I mean, all likelihood, we’ll land on someone who’s here, instead of in the closet, right?” asked Mylene. 

 

“Yeah! The rest of us need to catch up to master player Adrien,” said Kim. “Kissing rules.”

 

Everyone agreed--kissing did in fact rule--and so Alya spun. 

 

The bottle whirled around, wobbling a little more this time, and settled on Marinette. 

 

“ _ Finally _ ,” said Alya, as she stood up and walked over to her bestie (with a bare breastie). 

 

“Oh, Alya!” said Marinette, as Alya took a seat next to her on the couch. “I was wondering if we’d get to--”

 

She was cut off when Alya looked her in the eyes. Marinette had met Alya’s eyes on countless occasions: sharing a meaningful look related to Chloe’s antics, discussing the latest akuma attack and its post on the Ladyblog, a subtle wink to indicate that now was a  _ perfect _ time to make a move on Adrien. Countless instances where their eyes had met. But this time, it wasn’t a simple meeting of the eyes. The only way to describe the experience, Marinette figured, is to think of it as a unique perception experience. The Gaze. The Regard. The Peep? The Look. 

 

Yeah, definitely The Look. 

 

There wasn’t too much different about it, physically, but it had an entirely new connotation for Marinette. Something about a subtle way Alya was holding her lips, or the angle at which she looked over the frames of her glasses. Perhaps it was just as small as the way Alya took in a short, soft breath when looking at Marinette--and the fact that Marinette noticed it. And that Alya had  _ intended _ that she notice it. 

 

Whatever the secrets were behind The Look, the entire room felt it. Conversations hushed under the power of The Look, quieted by the unambiguous pair of fuck-me eyes practically  _ buffeting _ Marinette into the cushions of the sofa. Alya gently raised her hand to Marinette’s arm, placing it softly on her skin. “Caressing” might have been a better word for how it felt and how warm her hand felt on Marinette’s skin, like electric velvet conducting her attention to one point of her body. She would have looked at the hand where it touched her skin, but there were still those two gorgeous eyes giving her a different-than-friendly, definitely-very-good Look. 

 

“Marinette,” said Alya, and her voice was that same velvet, like she’s heard wisps and whispers of spoken into Nino’s ear, and it had that same electric charge to it. Marinette jumped a little in surprise, somehow startled by the person she was looking at, and who was touching her, actually speaking. “May I kiss you?”

 

“UH HUH,” said Marinette, two unintentionally loud syllables all she could really manage at the moment. Her thoughts were far more articulate.

 

_ Oh shit I’m definitely seduced right now _ . 

 

* * *

 

“So here’s a trick--or a technique, I guess,” said Rose, in between kisses along Juleka’s throat. “Is to get her revved up before you even get close to the undies.” She had moved around behind Juleka, threading her fingers through strands of long, dark hair as she pressed her lips to her girlfriend’s ear. Juleka was noticeably breathing more heavily now, and Adrien could see a complex pattern of goosebumps forming on her skin, even in the close warmth of the closet.

 

_ All _ over  _ all of _ her skin. He was already blushing, but decided he’d better blush some more.

 

Juleka’s eyes locked onto his as Rose kissed her way up her throat, and she slowly, deliberately dropped her hand away from her  _ sommets du plaisir _ , or as they say in English, boobs. Rose whispered soft, encouraging words to her, before turning back to Adrien, who had lost the ability to make direct eye contact. There was a lot of visual stimulation, after all--the boy had only seen a total of three entire  _ tetons _ before then--Marinette’s, and one of Alya’s. And almost Alix’s that one time.

 

“Kissing helps, and kissing other people also helps. Spin the bottle is definitely some pretty good context.  _ But _ ,” she said, as she deftly slipped her hand along Juleka’s hip, catching the undies and pulling them down slightly. “It is  _ much _ better to let your partner know what you’re planning! And give them secret little touches. Let them know what you’d like to do, making sure they want it. If you do it right, they’ll even ask for it!” Juleka nodded vigorously, with a satisfied little mmmm, and her movement unleashed a small wave of jiggles from her agreement, and from her trying to wiggle out out of her remaining clothes. Or her remaining clothe. “Teasing is fun. That’s why I borrowed a blanket from you, after all…” 

 

Juleka gave a little gasp as Rose’s fingers circled a little closer around the front of her panties. Rose whispered something into her ear, and Juleka nodded. They changed positions without ever losing physical contact with each other, Juleka leaning back onto a short pile of pillows, and Rose stealing two for her own use. She dropped them onto the floor in front of the bed with a soft plap. Juleka rearranged herself to lay her  _ culette _ right at the edge of the bed, legs spread around Rose. 

 

Rose knelt on one of the pillows and gestured Adrien over to the other one. Adrien walked the few steps to the bedside timidly, unsure of how to do just about anything. What even  _ is _ the proper etiquette when getting a front-row lesson about precious flower gardening?

 

Do you write a thank-you note?

 

Rose’s fingers were tracking light little paths along Juleka’s thighs as Adrien knelt on his pillow--slightly behind and to the left of Rose’s--and Juleka was covering her face with her hands. A few soft, encouraging syllables from Rose, and she dropped the hands partially down her face--enough to peek over the tops of her fingertips--and nodded. 

  
“Ready?” she asked. Juleka nodded, and Rose turned to Adrien. “And you?”

 

Adrien didn’t quite trust himself to make coherent sentences, either, so he just nodded. He felt a tingling, warm sense of anticipation, different from what he felt with Marinette, but a similar tense, internal excitement. Like he was full of very friendly bees. 

 

“Remember that this is just about the most exposed you can be to  _ anybody _ . And that’s a gift. So be nice! Always be nice.” Rose gave him a smile as she explained the foundation of her pussy-eating philosophy. “But I’m sure you’re going to be very good to Marinette! And she is  _ so _ pretty. Okay, ready?”

 

“Mmmhmm!” said Juleka, who was lightly squirming under Rose’s touch. She had taken her hands off her face--anticipation burning away the last bits of embarrassment, apparently--and propped herself up on her elbows to watch Rose at work, and Adrien’s reaction. Her chest rose and fell in deep, slightly fast breaths. Adrien got the impression that Rose was  _ pretty damn good _ at all this.

 

“M-me too,” said Adrien. 

 

“Okay! Legs up!” Juleka gamely lifted her legs into the air, and raised her rump off of the bed. With practiced ease, Rose slid the panties off of her lover’s ass and up her legs, throwing them next to the bra on the side of the bed. Adrien could see a pair of puffy little pink lips peeking out at the meeting of Juleka’s thighs and he quite instantly lost the ability to blink.

 

_ Oh gosh, I feel bad for staring _ , he thought, and tried to pull himself away from the sight. But he felt Rose’s hand on his cheek as he turned away, and she pulled his gaze back. 

 

“No no, Adrien, looking is fine! It’s the best way to get comfortable, and get better at navigating, you know?” He nodded. Rose had a good point--he was doing this for Marinette. And, theoretically, Ladybug. And, more theoretically, for whoever else might want him to give them a deeply intimate kiss on the nethers. And, in general, it was probably a good idea to--

 

His thought was cut off as Juleka gave a slightly impatient-sounding groan. “ _ Ma petite _ , come on!” 

 

“Now, a kiss for good luck!” said Rose, and she pressed her lips against his own, sneaking a quick one in before she pressed them against Juleka’s.

 

Rose supported Juleka’s calves with her hands, and gently guided her long legs down so that they framed her and Adrien. She leaned forward, pressing a few quick kisses in a line halfway down Juleka’s thigh. Juleka arched her back slightly in response to the kisses, and dug her fingers into the comforter. Adrien could see her biting her lower lip and gently squirming her hips. 

 

Rose turned back to Adrien, from a vantage point increasingly close to Juleka’s silken yoni. 

 

“Going down on a penis is just a big silly weiner in your face, but going down on our kind of parts is different. It’s closer, and you touch much more deeply, I think is the best way to say it.” She placed a gentle hand low on the most fun part of Juleka’s thigh, earning a new wave of goosebumps and the small sounds of someone who wants to  _ just get started you’re driving me nuts already _ . But Rose was a consummate tutor, of course, and was not done with her point. “Be respectful, and gentle.” She gave another series of kisses down Juleka’s other thigh, earning another impatient little noise from her girlfriend. “Well... at first.”

 

Wink.

 

And then she turned back to Juleka, and lay a gentle, flower-petal-light kiss on her lips, and Juleka gave a little gasp, and Adrien mouth dropped open, as he began to learn.

 

* * *

 

Alya leaned in and touched her other hand to Marinette’s cheek, and it was a good thing that Marinette’s lips and her arms had minds of their own, because Marinette wasn’t exactly competent at anything that might improve kissing, at the moment. But independent of her direct awareness, her arms went around Alya’s waist and up her back, and her lips parted to join the kiss. 

 

Marinette had been doing quite a bit of kissing over the past week. She’d shared her first romantic kiss with Adrien on Thursday, and it had thoroughly blasted her into orbit. More recently, she’d kissed Nath and Juleka, and while they were both very lovely to kiss, Adrien had been on a different level. And that was just about the level Alya was on. 

 

She felt herself melting and was very glad her arms had taken the initiative to wrap around Alya’s waist, or she would have dribbled off onto the floor. Her attention focused on the feeling of Alya’s lips meeting hers, the gentle, darting dance of her tongue, and the sensation of Alya’s hand moving from her cheek to the back of her head. In its wake was an almost-tingling sensation of anticipation, lingering on her skin. 

 

Marinette found herself short of breath, taking quick, slightly desperate breaths through her nose and in quiet gasps so soft they were like the shadows a moan would cast, taken around the kiss itself. That charge was back, a unique current that filled her and pulsed between her lips and her tightening chest and the half-dozen little points Alya’s fingers tickled along her back. 

 

And all the while, Alya’s boob was a duelist trying to start a nipple-melee with Marinette’s own tiddy-fencer, through what turned out to be the surprisingly thin fabric of her pajama shirt. She was distinctly and unavoidably aware of Alya’s body pressing quite insistently against hers, and found that she was absolutely not in any mood to move away. Quite the opposite. 

 

On Alya’s side, Marinette was no slouch either. 

 

Kissing Marinette was like dancing the lead with an exceptional partner to follow you. Whatever steps you chose, her energy and excitement flew along with you, making you considerably better a dancer-slash-kisser than you might otherwise deserve to be called. And Alya was  _ good _ . Marinette made little satisfied noises into Alya’s lips and Alya felt the muscles along her back tighten when she realized Marinette’s hand was delicately--well, less and less delicately, as the kiss continued--tracing its way across her skin. Marinette, of course, likely hadn't even realized that her hand had slipped up and under Alya’s shirt. 

 

_ Goddammit, she is too cute _ , thought Alya, not for the first time, as she felt her nip-nop crinkle into a pert little cone right up against Marinette’s  _ tedon _ .  _ I could really get used to this _ . 

 

And then Alya stopped thinking for at least a few moments, and simply enjoyed the feeling of her best friend matching her curves with her own, closing her eyes to focus on the steady warmth growing in her chest. 

 

… And lower. 

And while all eyes were on Alya and Marinette kissing, no one noticed a sneaky little orb of darkness dart across the floor and phase through the glass of the wine bottle. 

 

* * *

 

“So I recommend,” said Rose around a mouthful of pussy, “That you take your time and listen to what she tells you. And use your fingers! Don’t forget to clip your nails!”

 

“Fingers… nails… listen… got it,” said Adrien, making a mantra of Rose’s bullet points, to reinforce the lesson. His attention was decidedly under siege by the increasing volume and constancy of the sounds Juleka was making--familiar to what he’d heard from Marinette before, but with a rhythm and symphony all her own. “Gotta… be… attention.”

 

“Oh, and also, make sure to focus on the area  _ around _ the bijou until she’s  _ very _ ready to get direct attention.” She pulled her face back, lips glistening slightly with essence of girlfriend, and pointed out the bits of anatomy she was referring to. Adrien wasn’t particularly experienced, but it was quite the delightful intimate sight. He blushed harder as Rose gave her lover a smile. “Isn’t that right, Juleka?”

 

“UH HUH PLEASE,” she replied. 

 

She returned her attention fully to Juleka’s passion lotus, whispering tips to Adrien and soft, earnest encouragements to Juleka. And Adrien desperately tried to remember how to think. 

 

_ Uh um okay uh what was that okay be gentle, check, listen, check, fingers, check, do a slow buildup, check, and then that stuff about… what was it… varying what you do?  _ He blinked slowly, trying to remember what Rose had said about technique, when every part of his available senses were distracted by a very naked Juleka getting increasingly closer to a climax. Rose was proving beyond any doubt that she was a pussy whisperer extraordinaire, and in the face of a more and more vocally expressive and naked Juleka, Adrien was having a bit of difficulty remembering anything from the past few minutes with any detail. 

 

_ Something about kissing and _ … 

 

“Adrien,” said Juleka, between gasps. She reached out her hand to him and he took it, with a squeeze.

 

_ What do you say in moments like this? Honesty is probably good _ . “This is really amazing to watch, Juleka.”

 

She shook her head, biting back a moan. “No, lemme… lemme touch it.”

 

_It? What did she… oh._ _Oh!_

 

“Go ahead, Adrien, it’s fine! Plus then I get to see it too!” said Rose from a much more intimate vantage point, in relation to Juleka’s personal bits. With her free, no-fingers-inside-anyone hand, she lifted Juleka’s leg to give Adrien easier access to the bed next to Juleka, and went back to doing the Lord’s work on the  _ Couiffoufoune _ . 

 

Adrien didn’t know where exactly to put his eyes as he moved to lie next to Juleka. Uncertainly, he unzipped himself and produced Marinette’s second-place-aesthetics dingus. Juleka gave a little shudder as that view was paired with something  _ particularly  _ nice that Rose was doing, and she flicked her eyes very temporarily up to Adrien’s. From between her thighs, Rose made a thrilled little trilling noise--partially muffled by labia, of course.

 

“M-may I?” asked Juleka.

 

“Y...yes.”

 

Her hand was on him--even more tentative that Marinette’s was, as first, but growing bolder by the second as Rose crescendoed into her oral endgame. And it was that same familiar sensation of exquisite ice running up his spine that he got from Marinette’s touch, but with a tone and tenor unique to a new partner in crank-squeezing.

 

“Oh, wow. Nice,” said Juleka, between gasps and moans. “You… aaah… You’re going to make Marinette very happy, I-I think.”

 

“Oh, uh, thank you! I, uh… yeah. It’s mine.”

 

“Yeah! Definitely! You look great, Adrien!” said Rose, from her vantage point at Juleka’s alabaster crux. 

 

“Uuuuhhhhng!” whined Juleka, in protest at Rose’s brief stoppage, and Rose blew her and Adrien’s cock a quick kiss, and returned to her lingual machinations. 

 

* * *

 

Eventually, the cheers drew Alya and Marinette back to the party at large. 

 

“I’ve been waiting a while to do that,” said Alya. 

 

“Oh wow… was it worth the wait?” Marinette’s hands were still sliding up and down Alya’s back, more gently now that she was not mid-kiss. She rested her forehead against Alya’s, eyes closed, simply enjoying the fact that the previous moments had ever existed. And now, how very flattering! It’s not like her heart had  _ stopped _ belonging to Adrien, or anything, but the knowledge that Alya had wanted to kiss her was…

 

Well, it was a real boost to the ol’ self-confidence. Especially since Alya was a  _ prime  _ and  _ spectacular  _ kiss-meister. 

 

“Was it worth it for  _ you _ ?” asked Alya, laying a hand on Marinette’s arm. “Not to make it awkward, but..” 

 

“... Ablosloopie. Ablosutlerly. Ab-absolutely.”  _ Foutu words _ , she thought. “I didn’t realize I’d been waiting, but I was, and it was. Worth. Good kiss.”  _ Great job, Marinette _ . 

 

“And  _ that _ ,” said Alya, standing up from the couch with a smile on her lips. “Is exactly why anticipation is so neat. WINK.”

 

The party-at-large applauded the newly-disentangled gal pals--and potential future “gal pals”--taking the obligatory sidelong glance at Alya’s still-out tiddy, and kissing their partners, in  _ blatant disregard _ for the rules of the game as a whole. 

 

Now that the group was slightly smaller, there was a different energy to the proceedings--and now that at least two separate Adrien related sexual activities had gone on, that energy was a teensy tiny bit  _ rowdy _ . 

 

Alya leaned into Nino and placed a kiss on his ear. “Have I mentioned lately how you have excellent taste in crushes, and also that I love you? Psst, kiss me.”

 

He obliged, of course. But even if Alya was riding a kissing-Marinette high, someone had to keep the game going. “Thank you, sweet thing, but let’s give the other folks some chances to kiss. I know we all like kissing Marinette--”

 

“We do?” asked Marinette.

 

“We do!” said Nathanael and Alya in unison. Marinette--surprise!--blushed.

 

“Yes, we all like kissing Marinette, but it’s time to do another spin. Alya, the bottle, if I may.” 

 

Nino spun the bottle-- _ Hey is it getting increasingly wobbly? Hey wait a minute… was that it  _ floating  _ slightly!? _ \--and after a ludicrously irregular rotation, it landed on… 

 

Marinette.

 

“Yeah Marinette! Kisses all the time!” Mylene clapped in approval. Alya snickered, and poked Nino in the ribs. “Like I know Alya’s a good kisser,” Mylene continued, “but I figure that Nino will kiss you harder.”

 

“Better?” asked Ivan.

 

“Faster!” said Alix.

 

“Stronger!” said Kim. 

 

“How  _ dare _ you,” said Nino, as he adjusted his hat to the side (for kissing access) and went to sit with Marinette. “Daft Punk lyrics are not to be taken lightly.”

 

“Yeah guys,” said Marinette. “Give the moment the gravity it deserves! It’s very important! After all, I’m getting kissed…”

 

“Don’t do it,” said Nino.

 

“...One more time.”

 

Nino put a hand around Marinette’s shoulders, and another on her knee. “Marinette, my friend, if I kiss you now will you stop making Daft Punk jokes?”

 

“That’s kind of a weird thing to ask when you’re about to… get lucky,” said Marinette, smiling, and stretched herself up to meet his lips. 

 

Now, kissing is nice. We all know that. But Marinette had never before started kissing someone when both parties involved were already laughing, and unable to stop. It was a distinct kind of sweet and fun and romantic all at once, less soul-shaking in some ways, but still a dodging dance of two people’s lips around erratic bursts of laughter and snorts, trying to do some actual  _ kissing _ , thankyouverymuch, which feels  _ great _ even if you are not  _ focusing on the task at hand _ ,  _ Nino. _

 

Their kiss-giggling escalated sharply--and triggered the rest of the party into their own paroxysms of laughter--when Alya turned up the volume on her phone:

 

“She's up all night 'til the sun, I'm up all night to get some, she's up all night for good fun, I'm up all night to get lucky,” said Pharrell, to the dulcet tones of Daft Punk, blaring from the speakers in Alya’s phone. Concealed by giggles, neither Nino nor Marinette had noticed her sneak up on them, holding the phone close enough to their faces that they might as well have invited it to the makeout session. 

 

The kiss ended in a spluttering, snorting tangle of guffaws as Nino and Marinette collapsed in on each other, and the remainder of the party lost any semblance of order. 

 

“Okay, sorry, round two,” said Marinette, still smiling, and pulled Nino down to her lips again, this time  _ really trying _ to make it a good kiss. Like  _ actually _ good.

 

This time, the kiss was more serious, and sweet, and Marinette mentally complemented Alya on her excellent taste in boyfriends. And then she remembered when she’d walked in on “Ladybug” performing Certain Acts on “Lady Wifi” at Alya’s place, and the potential significance of Nino’s increasingly excellent kissing made her blush, and blush, and blush. 

 

They pulled away from each other with a still somehow slightly shy smile. 

 

“So, uh,” said Nino. “I hope my kiss felt like it took you… around the world.”

 

“I WAS GONNA SAY THAT,” said Marinette, cackling around a smile. “Dammit!” 

 

The class had erupted in conveniently-timed laughter, and Marinette pulled away from Nino with a little reluctance when she noticed the wine bottle--the supposed-to-be- _ empty _ wine bottle--gently floating into the air. 

 

Marinette kept up a steady laugh--albeit with a more staccato and nervous “HA HA HA HAA” added to it--as she snaked out a foot and gently toed the kwami-borne bottle to the floor. 

 

_ Tikki goddammit this is not how I’m going to get revealed, _ she thought, as she checked around the room for anyone close to paying attention. Luckily enough, everyone had gone giggle-blind, if they weren’t simply rolling on the floor. 

 

“Well hey! Yep! Let’s do some more kissing! Alix, go ahead and spin the bottle, on the ground, which is where bottles go!” said Marinette, verbally.

 

Internally, she was having a very different conversation.  _ DO YOU GET IT, TIKKI, DO YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN, DO YOU AGREE THAT MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T FLOAT OFF WITH THE BOTTLE?!? _

 

Outwardly, and verbally, she gently rolled the bottle over to Alix. “I think it’s your turn, Alix! Someone said something about some catching up to do?

* * *

“I’m close… pay attention to her,” said Juleka, and Adrien was still at a loss for what to do with any of his senses. And now Juleka was squeezing his lascivious prong? He’s only a superhero  _ sometimes _ . There’s only so much he could take, and handle, and retain. 

 

“Or,” said Juleka, giving an experimental little stroke up and down his shaft. “You could also kiss me while Rose fin-finishes me off.” Somehow, she managed to blush, despite being mid-sex, grabbing a dick, and completely naked. 

 

“Uh huh!” said Adrien, and Juleka pulled him down to her (upper) lips with her free, non-cock-holding hand, and moaned a rocking, cresting wave of pleasure into his lips. And with that kiss, Adrien remembered that one thing Rose had said about some good, good mouth-based lovin’. 

 

_ Kiss her flower like she’s kissing you back, and like she will never get tired of you doing that one thing that makes her knees weak _ . Quite a lovely little metaphor, and as he felt Rose’s motions grow more intent and focused, while repeating her same small motions in Juleka’s intimacy palace, it made more and more sense. 

 

So Adrien kissed Juleka back, not hard, but with that same ceaseless pattern he watched Rose perform, and he didn’t stop until she curled and arched and moaned into his lips and fell back jellified onto the bed with a deflating sigh and her hand slipped nervelessly off of his tap handle. 

 

“Aaaaaand, time,” said Rose, as her phone started beeping and a knock sounded at the door. “Seven minutes! That was pretty heavenly to me.”

 

“Buh,” agreed Juleka, as Kim called time from outside the closet.

 

“That was only  _ how long _ ?” asked Adrien, rapidly blinking. “You did all that in only seven minutes?”

 

“Mmmmmuuhhh!” Juleka confirmed. 

 

“Damn, I’ll never be that good…”

 

“Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, Adrien. You think I learned how to fly this thing overnight? Plus, I’d been working her up for  _ hours _ !” Rose wiped her girlfriend’s juiceleka off of her lips. With a few delicate touches, she dabbed some of the julekquid on her wrists, her cleavage, and behind her ears. She caught Adrien giving her a quizzical look, and gave him a smile back. “A natural perfume, of sorts! I like to call it my princess fragrance.”

 

“Oh. Huh! How does it…”

 

Rose leaned forward, proffering said fragrance. Adrien took a gentle whiff, and Juleka lightly kicked them both.

 

“Hey, that is quite nice!”

 

“Thank you, and also shut up forever,” said Juleka. She was far more articulate at this point, even for someone who was hiding her face in a pillow. “Roooooooose, come onnnnnn…”

 

“Shhh, you love me.” Rose climbed up Juleka to straddle her girlfriend’s body and gently coaxed the pillow off of her face. 

 

“Yeah…” she agreed, graciously allowing Rose to kiss her. Rose hummed in satisfaction as she kissed, and Adrien was suddenly conscious that he was present for an expression of a different form of intimacy. 

 

He turned around to give the ladies some privacy, calling out to the party at large, “Just a second!”

 

“Oh how rude of me!” said Rose. “Adrien, would you like a kiss, too?”

 

“You’ll have to come down here, I can’t move,” said Juleka. True enough, she was still floppy and flushed-looking. 

 

“That would be… yeah,” said Adrien. He knelt on the bed next to the two maximum gal pals, and Rose slipped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him into a kiss. 

 

Her lips were warm and plush, with a lingering little hint of Juleka’s romance essence lingering on them, and when Juleka pulled him down for a turn on the Agreste kiss machine, he blushed anew. Right as Rose was attaching herself to him at the throat while Juleka kissed him, of course, Kim gave a cursory knock and flung the door open wide. 

 

“Come on, Agreste! We’re developing a backlog here!”

 

_ Backlog?  _ he thought, as Juleka rushed to re-garb herself (at least as much as she’d been clothed before coming into the room).  _ Huh… backlog… what? _

 

“Oh Adrien! Before you go,” said Rose, grabbing him by the sleeve. “Would it be okay if I…” She tilted her head, flicking her eyes downwards. Adrien followed her glance.

 

_ Oh right.  _

 

“S-sure, if you’d like,” he said.

 

“Yay!” Rose reached down, giving his rambunctious bollard a quick, but thorough, caressing. “It’s lovely, by the way!  _ Easily _ second place.” She stood on her tippy toes to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “I hope you learned something good in here…” she whispered. He could hear the smile in her voice.

 

“Uh huh,” he said, unsure of how better to describe the exponential growth of his understanding of the brocade vale. “Yeah.”

 

“Good! Make Marinette happy, okay?” She patted him on the cheek, and collected her girlfriend, who was still a little wobbly on the ol’ feet. “Oh and you  _ may _ want to put that thing away. Just to maintain the mystique, you understand!”

 

For the third time in as many minutes, Adrien found himself following her glance downwards.

 

_ Ohhhhhhh riiiiiiiight. Zippers. _

  
Adrien stuffed himself back into his trousers and left the closet, helping Rose guide a still-cum-dazed Juleka back to the main room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty pumped for a couple of the lines I wrote in this chapter and I have been sitting on that "Princess Fragrance" joke for LIKE A YEAR.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Believe it or not, after so so many months, Adrien's party will be drawing to a close. But don't worry your pretty little heads--there's still plenty of Porte-Bonery to go.
> 
> Thank you all!


	31. In Which It Is Dark Under The Covers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party begins--slowly--to wind down. Several more minutes in heaven are experienced. Max is an anime man. Some people start snoring, while others start kissing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **SMUT ALERT**  
> **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS DEFINITELY NSFW SITUATIONS**  
> **THINK OF THIS CHAPTER AS MORE OF AN "EXPLICIT" RATING THAN "MATURE"**
> 
> This fic is heavily populated with bisexuals and nonmonogamous individuals. It's also populated by good communicators and people who value consent.

_ “Good! Make Marinette happy, okay?” She patted him on the cheek, and collected her girlfriend, who was still a little wobbly on the ol’ feet. “Oh and you  _ **_may_ ** _ want to put that thing away. Just to maintain the mystique, you understand!” _

_ For the third time in as many minutes, Adrien found himself following her glance downwards. _

**_Ohhhhhhh riiiiiiiight. Zippers._ **

_ Adrien stuffed himself back into his trousers and left the closet, helping Rose guide a still-cum-dazed Juleka back to the main room. _

 

* * *

 

 

“Do it, do it.”

 

“Shh! Plagg! Nuh uh!”

 

“Come on, no one’s going to notice, they’re all looking at Ladybug smash her face onto the Bubbler.”

 

“I’m not gonna make the bottle float! There’s  _ no way _ I’d risk Marinette’s identity like that!” Tikki gave a soft, but definitive, huff, and sat down on the glass on the inside of the wine bottle. She collected some cookie crumbs--they’d been soaking in the remnants of the wine, unattended--and munched on them as she gave Plagg a capital-L  _ Look _ .

 

Plagg was floating up against the side of the bottle, face squashed up against it as he peeked over the edge of the label. The dark glass was the only thing keeping him from being entirely visible to the party as a whole. 

 

“They won’t even be able to tell! Come on.”

 

“Ugh, you,” said Tikki, nibbling on another soaked chunk of cookie. “Always, all the time.”

 

“I bet you’re too chicken,” said Plagg.

 

_ Well  _ foutre _ my entire  _ vie,  _ now it is ON.  _ Kwami peer pressure is one thing, but a  _ bet _ … a bet was something else.

 

“Whaddlya give me if I  _ do _ do it?” she asked.  _ Am I slightly slurring my words? No matter. Boy, these cookie crumbs are good _ .

 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Plagg, giving an intensely  _ merde _ -eating Cheshire grin. “Since you’re not gonna do it.” 

 

From outside the bottle, they both heard Marinette. “I WAS GONNA SAY THAT! Dammit!”

 

“Pfft, now’s a perfect oppor--Hey!” Plagg found himself no longer floating, but rather standing on the floor of the bottle. He turned the 85% of his body that was his head to Tikki…

 

...Who was floating her little red ass off pushing against the roof of the bottle. 

 

Plagg’s eyes got wide and he slapped two kitty flippers over his cheese hole to keep himself from laughing loud enough to shatter the glass. She was  _ actually doing it _ . Tikki.  _ Tikki _ . He kept one nub over his mouth and waved frantically at Tikki, in a combination of shock and approval. What was even  _ in _ those cookie crumbs?

 

And then Marinette’s foot gently reached out and pushed the bottle back down to the floor and Tikki let herself gently float to the glass floor with a tiny puff of laughter. 

 

“Aaaaahahaha, Marinette’s going to be so mad! Unless Adrien does  _ real _ good on her.”

 

“Okay, okay, you win! You perv,” said Plagg, kitty flippers up in submission. “You’re not chicken even a little.”

 

“So what do I win?” said Tikki, as she reclined against the curved side of the bottle. “More pocket lint?”

 

“I dunno. What do you want?”

 

“Hmm.” Tikki looked around. The bottle was being observed, so they had to stay pretty much put. There wasn’t much to get out of Plagg, at least not immediately.

 

...Unless…

 

Tikki held out a chunk of cookie, dripping with wine. 

 

“Wanna get wasted?”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Damn, Agreste! Damn, girls! Speed up the process how about? We’re developing a backlog here.”

 

Kim--never exactly a patient dude--was cliche’dly tapping his foot as Adrien, Juleka, and Rose rejoined the party. Juleka curled into a quiet purple puddle and laid her head in Rose’s lap, while Adrien rejoined Marinette on the sofa--after grabbing a spare blanket, of course. After all, Rose had made some  _ excellent _ suggestions for things to do under a blanket, in preparation. 

 

_ Ooh la la, _ he thought to himself.  _ You absolute seducer _ .

 

“So what did I miss?” asked Adrien, as he’d gotten himself situated with Marinette under the blanket. She was  _ very _ nice and warm, and her thigh felt  _ extremely _ good under his hand.

  
Kim snorted. “He asks what did he miss.”

 

Alix hopped onto his statement. “What did he miss, he asks.”

 

“I’ll tell you, Adrien. We’ve got a backlog of sevens minutes in heavens, here! We can’t put the whole game on hold while we wait for you!”

 

“In your absence,” said Max, adjusting his glasses. “We accomplished several additional kisses which did not involve the currently beheavened individuals. Several spins involved the loss of clothing, as you can see.” 

 

Adrien spared a glance over to that side of the party. Like Max had implied, Nath was down to just--

 

_ Hold on, is Nath in just boxer-briefs?!  _ Foutre moi _ , I  _ must _ be distracted… _

 

Nath was, indeed, down to a single article of clothing. A combination of the rather explicit experience Adrien had just had in the closet, and the gently vibrating girlfriend cuddling up to him quite insistently under the blanket had solidly held his attention. But there he was--the true Grande Boner, with barely anything between the perfection of his glorious todger and the rest of the world. The sight was impressive enough that he’d entirely missed out on several sentences of recap from Max.

 

“--And then he spun onto Alya. From there, Mylene spun onto Alya, then Ivan kissed Mylene, which we all agreed barely counted, so they spun again and Ivan landed on Mylene again, and then Marinette spun onto Alya, so--”

 

“Dude! Slow down!” Adrien held up a hand--the one that wasn’t gently squeezing Marinette’s thigh--to ward off Max’s exposition. “I don’t even know why--”

 

Max pushed up his glasses with a middle finger, somehow catching the light with them to get that lens-flash anime look where the whole glasses become opaque white light.  _ Nice job, Max _ , thought Adrien, a weeb.

 

“Can’t you see?” said Max.

 

_ Damn dude, even more anime _ .

 

“We’ve got three folks  _ in a row _ who require the use of your closet. Twenty one total minutes in heaven. Mylene and Alya, then Mylene and Ivan, then Marinette and Alya. I’m afraid your closet is spoken for for a good amount of time.”

 

“Oh… oh gosh. Well, hey that’s fine! This game is fun!”

 

“Hell yeah it is,” said Juleka, from the vantage point of Rose’s lap. Her words were slightly muffled by her own hair and a girlfriend in the way.

 

“So, Alya has declared a, quote, ‘temporary ban on spinning because I don’t get to watch,’ so I recommend some unrelated activiti--” Max was cut off by an unsurprisingly impatient Alix

 

“Hey Agreste you have a big bathtub, right?” she asked.

 

“Uh… yeah?”

 

“It’s definitely nice,” confirmed Marinette.

 

“A big bathtub, you say? Sounds like you said hot tub. That’s what I thought. Come on boys, the closet isn’t the only place you get some heaven.” Alix’s words came out in an eager rush, as she tugged her two boyfriends along towards Adrien’s luxury--and romantically well-seasoned--bathing chambers. ‘Bathroom’ simply seemed too small a word for it.

 

“Um, what?” said Adrien.

 

“I find myself in desperate need of a bath,” said Max. “And I believe my boyfriend and girlfriend here intend to join me.”

 

“Huh? I thought we were just going to all fuck in the bathtub,” said Kim. “That’s what we said, right?”

 

“Language,” murmured Rose, as she ran her fingers through Juleka’s hair.

 

Alix performed a well-practiced little hop in the air to slap him upside the head, but in a gentle, loving way. “Dumbass. We were using euphemisms! Get with the picture!”

 

“Um, can you really just monopolize the master bath like that?” asked Mylene. “I mean, I was kind of hoping to--”

 

“Listen sister,” said Alix with a faux-angry sneer. “I have twice as many boyfriends as anyone else here, so I get dibs on getting plowed in the bathtub, see?”

 

“That’s fair,” said Adrien. “Arbitrary, but fair.”

 

“There’s been plenty of kissing but not  _ nearly _ enough Alix getting plowed,” said Alix, with her trademark demure word choice. “I’m going to correct that.”

 

“That’s how she rolls,” said Kim, who continued to allow himself to be pulled to the bathroom. “Don’t wait up!”

 

“Wait! Don’t you want to finish the game?” Rose’s voice had a note of deep, mournful loss to it. This was, after all, a  _ kissing _ game.

 

“You can never finish a game of spin the bottle, Rose! The real game… is in your heart,” replied Max. 

 

_ Damn, dude. Really nailing the anime tonight _ , thought Adrien.

 

_ … huh given that Max is about to go hook up with his pink-haired girlfriend and spiky tufted boyfriend, I guess he really  _ IS  _ going to be nailing the anime tonight. _

 

_ Nice pun, Adrien. _

 

_ Thank you, Adrien. _

 

The door shut behind the anime-slash-athletics trio, and Alya took Mylene’s hand. They had a combined total of 35 minutes in heaven coming up, after all.

 

“Hey, want to just bring Ivan along? And make this a solid fourteen minutes in heaven? I’d kinda like to see that thing in action. I’ll allow it, and I  _ am  _ the law around here.” Alya looked over her shoulder at Marinette, eyebrows raising and lowering rapidly, as a blushing Mylene accompanied her to the closet door. “Plus that’ll keep me going for my subsequent closet dates…” 

 

From over Mylene’s shoulder, Ivan’s eyes got big and he kept nodding. Marinette, of course, was essentially overcome with blushing, both from Alya’s implication and Adrien’s gentle stroking fingers up and down her leg. 

 

Mylene, for her part, looked just as excited. She squeezed Ivan’s hand and nodded at Alya. 

 

“Let’s go! I, uh, kinda need to… well.” Mylene cleared her throat. “You know. Activities. Certain activities have been on my mind.”

 

“Same,” said Ivan. Everyone, in turn, echoed the sentiment, even the partially-conscious Juleka. But somehow none of them, even Marinette, were quite as red as Ivan was.

 

“Let’s go! Start that timer, Nino!” Alya hopped up, sweeping up Ivan and Mylene on her way to the closet, her one exposed boob jiggling rambunctiously. “And I’ve been waiting to do this all night--”

 

“Babe. No.” Nino was already holding his head in his hands.

  
“Bottle: Spun.”

 

“Oh my god,” said Nino.

 

“Lips: kissed.” 

 

“Is she going to…” said Nathanael.

 

“Tit: out.”

 

“Alya how  _ dare _ you--” said Marinette.

 

“ _ I AM FORCIBLY ESCORTED INTO ADRIEN’S CLOSET, _ ” said Alya. Mylene shrugged and put two hands on Alya’s back, mock-struggling to push her into Adrien’s second, smaller bedroom-slash-closet.

 

“It’s an older meme, but it checks out,” mumbled Juleka. 

 

“I can’t believe you’ve done this. A meme, at  _ my _ party!” said Adrien. From the bottle on the floor, two tiny, faint snorts sounded, barely perceptible. 

 

“Hey did that sound like two tiny, drunk magical creatures giggling in an empty wine bottle just now?” asked Juleka, still bleary. Rose bent down to kiss her ear, giving Juleka a facefull of boob in the process.

 

“That doesn’t seem too likely, you’re probably just still in the stratosphere from our closet time.”

 

“Mmmmpfh,” agreed Juleka. “Mbuh,” she followed up. She nuzzled into Rose’s lap more and started quietly snoring as Rose stroked her hair.

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Tikki! Keep it together!”

 

“Pffntht, I’m trying!” snorted Tikki around her kwami nubs. They weren’t particularly good at muffling the giggles, it turned out. “But that was a good one!”

 

“I can’t believe my meme-trash chosen,” said Plagg, as he attempted to quiet Tikki’s giggles by stuffing her with more cookie crumbs. “It destroys me.”

 

“Well you  _ are _ the kwami of destruction,” said Tikki. “To which I suggest: Get wrecked.” 

 

She handed him another chunk of wine-soaked cookie, and he shrugged and took it. It was still a party, after all.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Outside the bottle, too busy with their own set of giggles to notice, the rest of the party continued. Alya, Mylene, and Ivan closed the closet door behind them to enjoy the first installment of minutes in heaven, and shortly thereafter, Alya’s voice rang out, barely muffled by layers of Agreste-quality soundproofing.

 

“Holy shit! Seriously? Fuck!”

 

“Language,” said Rose, halfheartedly interrupting her gentle stroking of Juleka’s hair.

 

“No no, it’s fine,” said Juleka. “Everyone says that when they first see Ivan’s… obelisk.”

 

“Phallic  _ and _ made out of stone! Nice!” Nino adjusted his hat--he’d put it back on at some point--and smiled. “New best phrase for his dingus.”

 

He looked around--now that the anime crew was privately splashing around in Adrien’s water feature and Alya was witnessing the erection of Trajan’s Column with Mylene, he was left with only Nathanael, Marinette, Adrien, Rose, and Juleka. 

 

“Yo,  _ hommes _ -ies, no reason we can’t keep playing,” he said. “Whose turn is it even?”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Three wine-soaked cookie chunks later, and Plagg was up against the glass again.

 

“Oh my gosh Tikki, who should we hook up? We have so much power!”

 

“I  _ knew  _ it! I  _ knew _ you were secretly a romantic!”

 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ tell Scampp!”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“I think we’re back to Adrien,” said Nathanael, who had wrapped a blanket around himself, for warmth as much as modesty. He was only in his undies, after all--have to maintain a little mystique.

 

“Yeah we got a lot done in your absence,” said Nino. “In terms of kissing. Of course, we really pissed Max off--he had to recalculate the probabilities, since we had three people gone, and blah blah blah.” Nino shrugged. “You know how it is. Guy’s precise.”

 

“You might want to install a revolving door in that closet of yours,” said Rose. “It’s seeing more action than the Eiffel Tower during butterfly season.”

 

The wine bottle rolled into Adrien’s foot. “Well while we’re here…” he said, and, without looking, he reached down to give it a spin without even considering how his room didn’t have a grade to the floor, and so how had it even started rolling, or anything like that.

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Okay Tikki….  _ now _ !” Plagg floated out of his hover at the rotation point of the bottle as he spoke, aggressively pumping his little tootsies on the spinning glass to gently, so gently, guide its path. Tikki had described her process, and a little kwami elbow grease and magic were all it took to have the bottle land on whoever they wanted.

 

Of course, now that Plagg’s bad luck was canceling out Tikki’s good, it was a little heavier on the “elbow grease” side of things, but hey. What can you do. Tikki’s wine-cookies had worked on Plagg just as well as her, and his inner romantic was showing. Thanks, Wine-Plagg.

 

The bottle slowed down and landed on… Nino. 

 

“Yes! Finally!” Tikki high-nubbed Plagg (the equivalent of high-fived, but for kwami) and sank to the floor of the bottle. With Plagg’s bad luck joining her, it was so much actual  _ work _ to cheat at this game. But worth it.

 

“I’m glad we agree on the important things.” Plagg slumped down next to her, head-first, letting his body floppily tilt to the side and smack her in the kwami-leg. “Poor boy’s been neglected this whole time, with barely any Adriens to kiss at all.”

 

“That’s no way to live,” agreed Tikki. “Of course, that’s probably Marinette’s influence on me speaking.”

 

“Well you know, I’m never going to tell him this, but he’s a pretty good kid.”

 

“Ha! You softie. I knew you love all your chosens.”

 

“Nuh uh!”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“Ooooh, looks like I finally get to ride the blonde bus to makeout station!”

 

“It’s a really great bus!” Marinette grinned at Nino, and waved him over. No way in  _ hell _ was she going to sacrifice Adrien stroking her legs under the blanket, no matter how cute Nino was looking and how intriguing him kissing Adrien was going to be.

 

_ Damn, I am super surprised at how into this I am, _ she thought to herself. From the corner, Wine-Marinette agreed, even though she was mostly in retirement for the night.  _ Makes me wonder… _

 

Nino trotted over and Marinette felt Adrien’s hands squeeze her just a little bit more tightly. She heard his breath catch a little in his throat.  _ Well, good! Seems like he’s into it.  _

 

“Hey dude,” said Nino, taking a seat on Adrien’s other side.

 

“Hey! Sorry all the good Daft Punk references got used up earlier.”

 

“I’m touched, my man, but don’t worry about it. Just let me try to impress you.” With a flick of his thumb, Nino flipped his hat off, sending it tumbling over his back, and slid his hand around the back of Adrien’s neck. “Does that sound good?”

 

“Yeah dude!”

 

Adrien was startled, as he often was, by the fluttery-nice feeling inside his ribs whenever he shared a first kiss with someone he really, really liked. He’d gotten echoes of it from kissing Rose and Juleka, but Marinette had given him that same soft, brilliant internal quake that he was feeling right now. Nino’s hand pulled him into the kiss by his neck--right on that favorite place of his, where he put his hand when he was feeling awkward. 

 

Of course, he wasn’t feeling awkward now. 

 

And of course Nino had known it would comfort him. He felt himself jellying gently into Nino’s grip, and reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder. For a dude who mostly spent his time spinning tunes and thinking about robots, the curve of his shoulder felt solid and firm and  _ nice.  _ Not as much as his lips, though. Of course not. 

 

Nino, meanwhile, was hearing a certain band’s entire discography playing through his whole body at a lovely emotional volume: his own unique blend of robot-music synesthesia. Not everyone is blessed with a best friend who's an exceptional kisser.

 

(Alya’s bestie was, too, of course, which he’d already found out)

 

After what seemed like ages and not nearly enough time, Adrien and Nino pulled their lips apart and let their foreheads rest on each other. 

 

“Yeah I guess I see what all the fuss is about, dude,” said Nino, grinning. He retrieved his hat and replaced it on his head, as he finally--and a little hesitantly--released Adrien. The blonde boy still has his eyes closed. 

 

He opened his eyes slowly, lips curling a little at the corners. 

 

**“** Wow, Nino. That was really unbelahiffable.”

 

…

 

Nino moaned, but not in the good way. Or well, he moaned, but not in the romance way. More of a groan, which he paired with pulling his hat off to cover his face. 

 

“Damn dude, damn.”

 

Marinette snorted and a tumult of giggles erupted from Nathanael and Rose. Even Juleka--partially conscious--snored out a few soft chuckles. 

 

“I lost that  _ foutu _ bet with Alya. She knew. She  _ knew  _ you would make a pun.”

 

“Gasp! You bet on that? I am so affronted,” said Adrien with a smile, mock-offended, but only able to hold up the tone, not the facial expression. “Aghast, even.”

 

Marinette tried to stifle her giggles under a hand, but Adrien tickled her under the blanket and she gave a little gasp and wiggle instead. He turned to her with his mouth scrunched to the side in faux-outrage. 

 

“Did  _ youuuuu _ know about this, Marinette?”

 

“Oh  _ definitely _ not,” she replied, as she pulled out her phone and, completely within Adrien’s line of sight, sent a three-word text to Alya:

 

_ Yeah, you won.  _

  
  


* * *

 

 

For the not-currently- _ in-flagrante _ partygoers, things got pretty chill pretty quickly; comfortable couches and cuddly classmates do that. Spin the bottle was a little more difficult after Nath delivered his kiss to Nino from Nino’s lap, and all of the spinnable people had wound up on the same furniture all of a sudden. Marinette made a wimpy little spin by awkwardly poking her toe into the bottle. When her spin landed on Rose, she had to climb over an Adrien, a Nino, and a Nathanael, and then very, very gently smooch Rose without disturbing the completely asleep Juleka on her lap. It was not, strictly speaking, super sexy. But the quiet giggling coming from everyone else was pretty entertaining.

 

Each partygoer was flopping over on each other, remembering that it was getting pretty damn close to dawn, or something, when Alya emerged from the closet.

 

The closet door cracked, and two snores rang out: one like the every-few-days sound of a building crumbling under an akuma attack, the other more like a rabbit rolling down a slope covered in tiny whoopee cushions. Marinette assumed that the snores belonged to Ivan and Mylene, respectively.

 

Alya raised one eyebrow at the couch full of people, and strolled over to drape herself over the back of the sofa. Adrien noticed that while she was still going Revolutionary Style with a tiddy out, it was the  _ other  _ tiddy this time. 

 

_ Guess that means I’ve seen both! Neat! _

 

“Hey babe,” said Nino, bending his head back to let Alya give him an upside-down kiss. “Enjoy the show?”

 

“I swear Mylene has a double life as a yoga instructor or something super stretchy. Ivan had to lean back as soon as he gets it up, or else he’d tip over under the weight. That dude has a no-kidding tap handle.”

 

“Mvivan dmimmks,” said Juleka, unconsciously.

 

“But yeah, they exchanged bearnaise and passed out cuddling right after. It took me three minutes to wiggle out from between them.” She shook her head. “They’re down for the count.” 

 

Alya lifted her head away from Nino’s, scouting the still-closed bathroom door, the couch full of sleepy people, and the otherwise empty room. 

 

“So the closet’s taken, the bathroom’s taken, the  _ other _ bathroom is too small to hook up in, and the couch is full of asleep people. And yet, I still owe Marinette seven entire minutes in heaven.” She re-draped herself across the back of the sofa, running a hand along the cushions to land lightly on Adrien’s shoulder. He looked up at her. 

 

“Hey are you using that big fuckoff bed or anything?” she asked, gazing lovingly at Adrien’s emperor-sized slumber stage. King-size was a long way behind a bed that big. 

 

“Mmlaangmugaje,” said Rose, almost pronouncing the word “language” at all as she slowly passed out slumped against Nathanael’s shoulder. Nath snored in agreement, and began tipping slowly into Nino. 

 

“Well, no, not really…” said Adrien, replying to Alya at an angle. Nino was leaning into him, finally succumbing to the force of three classmates dominoing into his shoulder. 

 

“Sorry bro,” said Nino.

 

“Nah don’t worry,” said Adrien. “It’s been a big night. I feel like this party’s been going on for like seven and a half months. Good months!” he said, squeezing Marinette under the blanket. She wriggled.

 

“So what I’m hearing is… Marinette and I can borrow your palace of a bed for our seven minutes in heaven situation, right?”

 

Marinette--whose blush-glands were getting quite the workout recently--doubled down on the rosy-cheekedness. Getting lightly fondled under a blanket was one thing; going to seven minutes in heaven under your boyfriend’s blankets was  _ another _ . 

 

That being said it was still a very  _ good _ other thing.

 

… But she still figured that she had a way to make it better.

 

Marinette squeezed Adrien’s thigh under the blanket, and glanced at where Nino was pressed up against both her and her boyfriend, and she smiled a subtle little smile. “And I mean…” she said. “After seven minutes, I bet you and Nino will need a place to crash, right?”

 

Nino started, blinking suddenly-bright eyes and earning a quiet grunt from a barely conscious Nathanael. “Hey, dude, that sounds like a plan. Couch is getting a little crowded and all.”

 

The four conscious partygoers looked to the other side of the couch. Nathanael, Rose, and Juleka had, like goldfish in a bathtub, expanded to fill the dimensions of their container. Marinette, Adrien, and Nino had all gotten squonched up on the far-side armrest by the slow, tipping-over motion of Rose following Juleka into sleepytime, and Nathanael following her. They were a cuddly, warm battering ram, and they had gotten just about to the limit of their ability to stretch out in a staggered line of snoring classmates. 

 

Two tiny magical creatures might have been giggling at how adorable it was, but no one would have heard them besides themselves. And at that point, they were snoring little kwami snores anyway.

 

“Yeah it sure is,” said Marinette. “So I think if we relocated…”

 

“Brilliant as always, my little canape. So, Adrien, if I may extract your lover true…”

 

Adrien, ever the gracious host, allowed Alya to gently tug Marinette away from him, and made no comment to dismiss the “lover true” phrase. He then made to join her, with Nino in tow, when Alya tsk-tsk-tsked a finger in his face.

 

“Ah, not quite, lover boy. I’ve got seven minutes I need to impress your lady with--” Marinette bit her lip a little as she said that. “--because them’s the rules I made up.” She wrapped her arm around her bestie’s waist and gave Marinette a gentle squeeze, laying her head on the smaller gal’s shoulder. “So you can join us  _ afterwards _ , because I’m not a monster, and that bed looks heck of comfortable, but she’s all mine for the moment.”

 

Adrien smiled with one side of his mouth, turned to Nino, and they shared a perfectly-synchronized shrug. Them’s the rules. 

 

“You ladies have fun!” said Adrien, with a little wave.

 

Marinette blew him a kiss. “Wink,” she said, also doing what she’d said.

 

“I knew I’d get you to do it eventually,” said Alya.

 

“What can I say? You’re rubbing off on me.”

 

“That’s the plan.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

Back on the couch, Nino arranged the sleeping trio of goth, pixie, and artiste into a more comfortable stack of slumberers, then turned to Adrien. Blondie had leaned back against the armrest of the sofa and slung a nice long model-y leg over Nino’s thigh. Nino gave him a sweet little grin.

 

“Seven minutes, huh?” he said.

 

“However are we going to pass the time?” said Adrien.

 

“I got some ideas, my man,” said Nino, as he turned his cap around, leaning in towards Adrien’s lips.

  
  


* * *

 

 

Marinette wiggled under the covers and Alya was right on her heels. They giggled, still buzzing with the energy you get from making out with all of your best friends within a relatively brief period of time. The buzzing changed pitch when Alya slid up to Marinette, pressing her partially-nude self up against her bestie’s very warm and very nice curves. Alya felt  _ very  _ nice, and she’d just watched Mylene and Ivan engage in some romantic, but geometrically improbably, activities. She was clearly in a bit of a  _ mood _ . 

 

“Hey girl,” said Alya.

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

“Sneak under the duvet with me.”

 

Marinette did so with a little grin, and Alya turned on her phone’s light to make a little bright cozy cave.

 

“So, now that we’re alone… kind of… let’s talk.”

 

“I thought you were going to… you know…”

 

“Hell yeah that’s what we’re gonna talk about, you walnut.” Alya poked her on the forehead and on the nose. “When you’re doing romance activities with someone else’s girlfriend or whoever, it’s extra important to communicate.”

 

“Oh yeah, that makes sense…”

 

“So… what are you up for? Anything off the table? Because, just so you know, I’m interested in just about anything.” Her eyes provided the details that her words didn’t, about  _ just _ how interested in just how much of  _ anything _ she was.

 

Marinette felt herself blushing up a storm, even in the privacy of seven-minutes-in-blanket-fort-heaven with her best friend, who had just indicated a  _ substantial _ physical attraction. She didn’t have a ready response.

 

“I’m sorry--was that weird? I don’t want to make this weird, but--” Alya backed off, and toned down the capital-G Gaze immediately. Marinette blushing was adorable, and fun, and everything, but an uncomfortable, flustered-speechless partner is not okay to seduce.

 

“No! It’s not weird,” said Marinette. She reached out to Alya, laying her hand on her shoulder and the other cupping Alya’s phone-hand. “It’s--well it’s a little weird, but it’s not bad-weird! It’s just, you know…” The words weren’t coming smoothly. “I’m… yeah, I’m interested, too. But we have to promise to be cool about it!”

 

“Absolutely gonna be cool with it.” Alya scooted closer, letting her phoneless hand rest lightly on Marinette’s hip.

 

“Definitely.” Marinette reached out with her foot, sliding her instep very gently onto and around Alya’s lower legs. The feeling of her friend’s skin--something she was so used to touching--was somehow new and exciting. 

 

Maybe it was the blanket?

 

“I mean, I’m already committed to sharing Nino with Daft Punk if he ever gets the chance…” Alya scooted a little closer still.

 

“Excellent taste, of course.” Marinette noticed that Alya’s  _ tedon liber _ was  _ definitely _ giving her a pert little salute. Because it was poking her own. 

 

“And you said you’d share Adrien with Ladybug after all…” Alya’s hand slid slowly and precisely up Marinette’s hip, tickling light little fingertip footsteps all over her. 

 

Marinette couldn’t help but smile. “I sure did…” 

 

“So we can spare a little for our best friends, right?”

 

“D-definitely.” Marinette was suddenly aware of her heartbeat. When had it gotten so fast?

 

“In that case… what would you like to do?”

 

“I’m gonna have him be my first. For… for everything I can,” said Marinette. She was close enough now that she was speaking almost right into Alya’s lips. Her nose brushed her friend’s. “But we’ve already done plenty of fun things with our hands. A-and with our mouths. Well, his mouth. On me. On--yeah.” She swallowed. Alya was  _ very _ close and  _ very _ warm. Their legs were entwined now, and certain bits in particular were  _ extremely  _ toasty. “Is that okay? Wh-what about you?”

 

“Babe, I think a little handsy type stuff sounds like a very good idea.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah…” 

 

“Well Alya you know what we should do with our hands…”

 

“What?”

 

“Let’s start here.” Marinette took her hands off of Alya--reluctantly--and raised them to her face instead, withdrawing her face somewhat to gently pull her glasses off. She smiled. Alya without her glasses looked a little less assertive, but no less beautiful. 

 

Marinette gave her a smile, and a gentle kiss on the nose.

 

Then a much less gentle one on the lips.

 

Marinette drew back very slightly, biting her lip in a smile that was brighter than Alya’s phone light. Her eyes sparkled in time with her pulse. “Now then… is there anything else we should take off?”

  
  


* * *

 

 

The inhabitants of the couch, even the two awake ones, didn’t notice the articles of clothing being flung out from under Adrien’s bedsheets. Juleka, Nath, and Rose had a pretty good excuse, as they were unconsciously snoring in a pile, but Nino and Adrien had a potentially better one. 

 

Adrien had decided that he quite liked the feeling of Nino’s weight pressing down onto him from above, almost as much as he liked Nino’s lips on his own, and Nino’s hands on his shoulders and ribs. Alya clearly knew how to pick ‘em. 

 

So Adrien enjoyed the feel of his fingers tracing the muscles on his back like they’d make up for years of missed opportunitis to be doing  _ exactly this _ , and the pressure of Nino on him, and the  _ other _ pressure, more specifically located, which was doing it’s level best to start a very private and personal fencing match with Adrien’s underdrawers. Adrien’s lips curled into a little smile, mid-makeout, as he savored every sweet little moan he pulled from Nino when he pushed back in new and interesting ways. 

 

And to think, a few short weeks ago and he hadn’t even kissed anyone. These last few days or so had been quite the change.

 

Adrien smiled to himself, throwing off the taking-it-super-seriously part of making out with Nino, and sparking off Nino’s own smile and giggles. They snorted little quiet blasts of laughter into each others’ kisses, triggering more and more awkward makeout chuckles. Each time they had to pause, shushing each other, given that three extremely asleep partygoers were on the same couch.

 

The shushes never worked, of course, and so they’d be back to giggling and kissing and enjoying the feeling of each other mere  _ moments _ after any given shush. It was, both objectively and in the moment, quite a treat. 

 

_ Yeah _ , thought Adrien to himself, about his recent romance-evolution.  _ I think I’ve come pretty far _ .

  
  


* * *

 

 

A few meters from where Adrien and Nino were giggle-kissing the seven minutes away, Alya’s wifi-pubes were tickling Marinette’s palm.

 

If nothing else, Adrien’s party had been a nice way to suddenly realize that one is definitely, shockingly, vigorously bisexual. Kissing Alya had been very nice, of course, but it was  _ always _ going to be nice to kiss Alya, no matter your orientation. Finding yourself entirely denuded with her in your boyfriend’s bed, and listening to the soft little sounds she made into your ear as your hand slipped lower and lower on her body?  _ That _ was a little beyond simply  _ nice _ ; it was a bit of a wake-up splash of bracing guess-who’s-bisexual water on the face: it  _ really _ got her going in the early morning hours. So to speak. 

 

Alya was pressed up against her as much as she could be, playing a little game where she tried to touch as much of Marinette as she could at the same time. And, to Marinette’s delight, it was a game she was  _ very _ good at. No shade to making out with Adrien, of course, but there was something to be said for some bonus  _ tiddies _ being in the mix. 

 

She was kissing Alya like she couldn’t get enough of her lips, which was true, kissing so hard and long and well that she got short of breath and both of them would have to pull back with little gasps to get enough air, before returning for another round of kissing and touching and moaning and gasping, all done softly, all done under the covers like it was some sacred, private space that too much volume would diminish. They hadn’t been whispering before when they’d been talking about boundaries, but now, clothes off and skin-to-skin and lip-to-lip, every soft interjection was spoken like saying it too loud would change something about the experience, and neither wanted anything to change. 

 

Marinette slid her fingers lower still, tracing the trimmed-in lines of Alya’s Lady Wifi cosplay curls, and even lower, and she felt just how much Alya was enjoying herself, if the warm slick lips she felt were any indication. And she hadn’t even slipped between her lips, yet. 

 

Speaking of which…

 

“Can I?” asked Marinette.

 

Alya smiled against Marinette’s lips, kissing her before she replied. “Can  _ I _ ?”

 

Marinette felt Alya’s fingers trace a little line of glittery spiderwebs down her body from their previous home on her  _ petit miche,  _ mirroring what Marinette was doing to Alya. She giggled back into Alya’s kiss, and whispered her “yes.”

 

“Same here,” said Alya, and she moved her lips to Marinette’s throat, nibbling gently right as she curled her fingers  _ up _ and  _ in _ , and Marinette bit her lip and hummed a soft little moan as she got her second fingering of the night. Or, as the French would say, her  _ deuxième doigté _ . 

 

Her free hand snuck around Alya’s neck and pulled her closer, while lower on Alya’s body, her busy hand was exploring someone else’s satin labyrinth (or, more accurately, satin labiarinth) for the very first time. Even more than feeling Alya’s curves and slickness on her  _ monticule de venus _ , the sound Alya made into her ear and mumbled into her throat when her fingers slid inside her was more than enough to rocket her directly into the “confirmed bisexual” bullseye of an imagined sexual orientation dartboard. 

 

Marinette was no stranger to her own personal lady-geography, but exploring someone else’s was a kind of fun she had no  _ idea _ she would enjoy this much. She felt like a goddamn  _ cartographer _ , dedicated to finding the best and most interesting parts of Alya--wherever they were. 

 

Of course, it’s hard to be an accurate pussy-cartographer when you’re also getting hand activities done to yourself. She was just getting the rhythm of sliding in time with Alya’s hips when the keenly wonderful distraction of Alya’s fingers on (and in) her pulled her attention away. Alya had found that one  _ perfect _ rhythm, that one spot that was  _ just  _ right, and Marinette couldn’t help but give a short, sharp moan as Alya’s fingers played her expertly, and their echoes bounced around her from  _ bijou _ to  _ couronne,  _ from hips to nips. She smothered the louder sounds that Alya was trying to wrangle from her by burying her face in Alya’s throat and moaning into her skin. After all, people were trying to sleep. 

 

One thing she certainly admired about Alya was that, while Marinette loved Adrien first and foremost, Alya’s fingerbang--or  _ bourrelet _ , as they say in France--was considerably more experienced. She’d been focused on exploring Alya’s particular dimensions, and all the while, Alya’s touch on her had been smooth, and subtle, and beautifully insidious, ramping up her sensations and pleasure without overwhelming her… until she meant for it to. Alya, as we all know, is very tricksy. Of course she wasn’t going to let a maladroit diddle disrupt the experience. 

 

Marinette nibbled some of Alya’s skin between her lips, and enjoyed the little sound she made from that--and from the other things she was doing. And with the small part of her mind not being overtaken by a rushing cascade of Alya-based pleasure, Marinette pondered how to best impress her friend. 

 

_ Well you know… there’s that one thing that always works for me  _ super _ well… _

 

_...And now would definitely be the right time to try it _ . 

 

Marinette adjusted her wrist, delicately curling her fingers at just a  _ little _ different of an angle, applying pressure just a  _ little  _ different point around the  _ bijou _ , reaching just a  _ little _ bit more upwards, and forwards, and then the thumb goes  _ there _ and you use your wrist to just--

  
  


* * *

 

 

Alya’s sudden moan, muffled but unmistakably orgasmic, startled Adrien and Nino bolt-upright on their chunk of the couch. 

 

...Well it startled their  _ torsos _ bolt upright. Other parts were already as upright as they could be.

 

Nino looked sheepishly down at Adrien, from his perch just about entirely on his best friend’s lap. 

 

“Sounds like they're having fun,” he said, glancing down at the bulge duo pressed up between their hips. 

 

“P-plenty of fun going around, huh?” said Adrien. “Parties are really fun. Really fun.”

 

“You got that ri--”

 

And Nino’s phone, the traitor, started playing “Get Lucky” to signify that seven minutes had indeed passed. 

 

Without missing a beat, Juleka and Rose and Nathanael all reached over, still quite unconscious, and started slapping at or in the general vicinity of Nino’s phone. Which was in his pajama pants pocket. Which he was wearing. 

 

In a mad clumsy dash, Nino and Adrien both scrambled off of the couch to avoid the flailing sleep-limbs of their alarm-averse friends and wound up in a barely recognizable pile of boys. Nino had managed to turn the alarm off right as they hit the ground. 

 

“Good hustle, Lahiffe,” said Adrien, who had wound up on top. “Solid reflexes.”

 

“Thanks, Coach Nerd,” said Nino, smiling up at him. “I'm pretty good with my hands.”

 

“Oh yeah?” Adrien laced his fingers through Nino’s, running his thumb up and down his palm. 

 

“Oh yeah. Sounds like Marinette is, too.”

 

“Might need you to prove that later on. And yep. She really does.” He pressed Nino’s hand into his chest, leaning over to lay another soft kiss on his friend’s lips. 

 

“C-cool, bro,” said Nino, a little bit breathlessly. Strange--he hadn't been breathless when they'd first landed.

 

“Yeah.” Adrien smiled down at Nino from close range. “Do you want to maybe… see if we can join the ladies in my bed?”

 

“As long as I can--”

 

“Psst! Adrien! Nino!” Alya’s voice whispered urgently from the bed, beneath the blanket. “Get in here! I need you to hold Marinette while I do things to her!”

 

“Oh nooooo,” said Marinette, in a stage whisper that was as sincere as Alix was tall. “I sure hope those two boys don't come up here and hold me down or anything…”

 

Adrien looked down at Nino, and both of them felt a redoubled stiffness. The good kind. 

 

“Psst I was kidding, I do want that,” whispered Marinette.

 

“Oh hey but the bed is a no-clothes zone,” whispered Alya. “So. You know what to do.”

 

Nino gestured to the bed with his head. “Want to?” His hat was long gone--sacrificed for the greater good of making out with your buddies. 

 

“We can pick up where we left off later,” said Adrien, rocking backwards and pulling Nino up with him. “However… I do find myself still with some clothes on.”

 

Nino’s smile was framed by some top tier lips, in terms of kissability, and he stepped that short distance closer to Adrien. He slid two hands down Adrien’s hips, under the cloth of his pajamas, sliding them slowly down with his thumbs. “We'll be right there,” he whispered to the heavy-breathing duvet. “Just one quick thing…”

  
  


* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe we’re about to do this,” said Marinette around a lipfull of Alya kisses. She giggled, then gasped as Alya did that  _ one thing _ to her again, and moved her kisses lower. Her current bedmate was getting a  _ teensy _ bit competitive and showoffy after Marinette had gotten Alya off first… not that Marinette was complaining, mind you.

 

“Well, start believing it,” said Alya from around a mouthful of Marititty. “There’s no way I’m missing out on a chance to get three of my favorite people in bed with me at the same time.” She detached herself from Marinette’s bust to give her lips some more attention, and Marinette smiled and trembled in two kinds of excitement: anticipatory, and _already_ _aroused_. 

 

Now that she’d been under the sheets with Alya for her seven minutes, it made  _ three full times _ she’d been sensually worked-over by her various hottie classmates. And now she was being joined by her for-real-real supermodel boyfriend and his completely adorable and also kind of hilariously sweet best friend, and  _ those two _ had  _ also  _ been hooking up just moments ago. It was all getting to be a little much for Marinette all at once--but she found herself perfectly, rapturously, joyfully interested in experiencing that “little much.” For tonight, for right now, she had a feeling that it was going to be exactly enough.

 

An unseen boyforce lifted the covers, letting in a refreshing--if still comparatively chilly--burst of air into the under-sheet climate. They both scooted in to one side of Marinette, leaving Alya on her other side. In the shifting shadows of Alya’s phone flashlight, she saw a well-mussed shock of blonde hair and she reached out for him, groping a--

 

“Oh hello.”

 

\--a  _ startlingly naked Nino _ .

 

“Oh! Sorry!” said Marinette, withdrawing her hand, but not forgetting the subtly different  _ shape _ of what she’d grasped. Nino might very well give Adrien a run for his money, dickwise. “I thought you were--I was--I thought I was--” 

 

It was a weird conversation to have with someone while their girlfriend was a few digits inside of you. 

 

“Hey, babe, it’s all good, keep going if you want to,” said Nino. “I mean, I’ve been borrowing your dude for awhile, so fair’s fair.”

 

“Marinette, it turns out I’m bisexual,” said Adrien. “It’s the best.”

 

“Same here! Like a lot!” Marinette reached back out, more gingerly this time, probing for Adrien’s slightly rounder cheeks in the darkness. There’s only so much a phone flashlight can illuminate. A lovely-feeling and teasingly-familiar hand grasped her fingers, and drew them to an even  _ more _ wonderful pair of lips for a kiss. 

 

“Here I am, love,” said Adrien in that husky whisper she’d fallen in love with back in her room, so long ago. She found herself falling just as hard, again, hearing him say what she felt. “There’s just a Nino basically on top of me.”

 

“No big deal,” said Nino. “Sounds like you’ve been treating Alya well.” With a few awkward crab-steps in the dark, Nino straddled Marinette’s legs to give Alya a kiss in the general vicinity of where he thought she might be. He got Marinette’s shoulder, which made her giggle, and then Alya’s tiddy, and then finally her lips. “Hey babe.”

 

“Hey yourself,” she replied. 

 

Everyone held their breath behind wide smiles for a few seconds, before bursting into a cascade of giggles at the absurdity of the four of them, bare-ass naked, under a blanket in the middle of the world’s best-located slumber party. Even with the ridiculous under-covers tableau, they managed to keep the snicker-volume down, so as to not disturb anyone else. 

 

And  _ that _ is good manners, right there.

 

“Okay,” said Alya. “So we’re all here and super naked. Is everyone okay with that? Do all of you want to keep the revolution going?”

 

“Uh huh,” said Marinette, with more urgency in her voice than she had really meant to include. Alya hadn’t quite stopped moving her fingers so, so delightfully within her. 

 

“Definitely,” said Nino.

 

“Adrien?” asked Alya. “Are you okay with this? I mean, I know it’s kind of a lot to--”

 

“Oh, no I totally am, I just nodded. It’s… dark, though.”

 

Nino snorted a little puff of laughter out at him. “You’re a dork, dude.”

 

“Guilty as charged.” Even in the darkness, Marinette could see his smile flash. 

 

“Then I’m gonna go ahead and say that the Directory has definitely replaced the Committee for Public Safety, and we haven’t yet inaugurated First Consul Bonaparte--”

 

“Damn, babe, you are so into this metaphor,” said Nino.

 

“--so, everyone,  _ including Nino _ , for clarity’s sake, we’re gonna keep our pelvis bits out of other people’s pelvis bits,  _ happy now _ ?”

 

“Oh definitely,” said Nino.

 

“Okay we are all on that same page can you just  _ kiss me already _ , gosh!” Marinette was currently sandwiched between an Alya on one side, an Adrien on another, and a Nino sort of on top, and she was  _ keenly _ aware of how nice each of them had been to kiss, and she was  _ keenly _ aware of how Kim had interrupted her moments of passion twice that evening, and she was  _ keenly _ aware of Alya’s body and Nino’s body and Adrien’s body all being very warm and inviting and making her blush from toenails to pigtails. It was a little much to experience all at once  _ without _ being kissed.

 

“Also… Nino, would you mind if I…” Marinette traced her hand lower on his body, following his happy trail. Not  _ quite _ to where it became a  _ very _ happy trail, but close.

 

“Oh yeah dude! Sure!” he replied.

 

“Yeah girl!” said Alya. “Now grab hold and enjoy.”

 

“You know,” said Adrien. “I’m so glad we all know how to share.”

  
  


* * *

 

 

It’s not every day that you get to multiply the number of people you’ve kissed, and rarer still to multiply the number of people responsible for getting you off by a similar number. Marinette, of course, was doing pretty well on both counts. 

 

Alya was doing  the lion’s share of the work--no surprise since she had a seven-minute head start--but Adrien and Nino both had honorable mentions, with Adrien’s lips muffling her little moans and sounds and squeaks and his hands playing with her up-top, and Nino laying a slow, gentle set of kisses across the swell of her hips and the curve of her belly and the lines of her thighs. 

 

If nothing else, thought Marinette, the three of them were  _ excellent _ team players. 

 

She wasn’t sure she’d ever been touched this much, by this many, for so long. It was incredible, and electrifying, and overwhelming, and overwhelming again. Again and again she was traced over with little explosions of sensation bursting out of her lips, her breasts, her skin, her  _ lips _ , until they all rushed into each other and crackled up her spine and deep in parts of her she barely remembered except at moment like those, making her body shake and curl and push back into three other lovely,  _ lovely _ people who were doing  _ such _ lovely things to her. 

 

After a blurry ecstatic period that was the perfect mixture of hyperawareness of her body and complete sensory overload, they finally took a break, toasty warm under the comforter, breathing hard and laying in an octopus pile. If Adrien’s lips hadn’t been there to absorb some noise, Marinette was quite sure she would have shattered all of the crystal in the mansion. 

 

The four of them luxuriated in that temporary exhaustion that arrives right after one person has to take a break from getting pleasured so, so right. Marinette was the first to break their comfortable, patting-themselves-on-the-back silence.

 

“You guys,” she said. “Oh my gosh.”

 

“Yeah you said it,” replied Alya, lazily stroking a finger across Marinette’s collarbone. “I think we’re pretty good at this.”

 

“Bro, I think you’re a natural,” said Nino. “And you got some pretty mad focus, too. Barely got distracted at all by what I was doing with my other hand.”

 

“Hey, we had a job to do.” Adrien gave Nino a more-or-less accurate punch to the shoulder. “I’m just trying to be a good boyfriend.”

 

“You’re doing great!” said Marinette as she buried her face in his shoulder. “I, uh… didn’t super expect this to be how things went. But! But it’s good! I’m glad they did!” She moved one leg to better drape across Alya, and tried to wriggle an arm under Nino, to wrap around his shoulders, with limited success on both counts. It was, at that moment,  _ extremely  _ important that she be touching everyone at the same time. 

 

Everyone beamed, smiles bright enough to flash even without the assistance of Alya’s phone light. Like a dosexapus yogi, the whole quadro-teen pile flexed, as everyone gave everyone else (and themselves) a tight, warm hug loaded with endorphin-heavy affection and healthy slice of still-horny pie. 

 

“Speaking of your boyfriend, Marinette,” said Nino. “Would you mind if maybe me and Alya borrowed him for a little bit while you rest up?” He gave a nervous little chuckle, and Marinette could feel the little tremble of anticipation from Adrien under her, as he listened to Nino. “We, uh, I was thinking about maybe doing some more of what we were up to on the couch.”

 

“Well…” she said, letting the sound of her smile shape her words. “I suppose if Adrien wants t--”

 

“Yes,” he said, and everyone had a good jiggly giggle at how fast his answer had come. Adrien, of course, smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Adrien figured the night could only have been better if Ladybug was involved, and even that was a maybe. He and Nino had left Alya and Marinette to cuddle while he and Nino continued their couch activities, albeit with considerably fewer articles of clothing. His heart was beating in sharp tap-tap-taps against his chest, precise and staccato as ten sets of stiletto heels taking a stroll down the catwalk all at once, and just barely out of sync. And that pounding tattoo just accelerated when he slid his hand low and carefully down Nino’s body and grabbed a hold of the ol’ lascivious prong. 

 

It was a weirdly familiar experience, playing with Nino’s daft junk. The angle was different from when Adrien was cranking his own personal hog, but the motions, and the feel of skin sliding over a delightfully hard shaft, gave him a pretty good idea that he was doing alright. And the sound of Nino breathing more and more heavily into his ear certainly helped.

 

Then Nino started returning the favor and Adrien’s ability to focus on anything went the way of the  _ fucking  _ dodo. 

 

Side-by-side, lips dancing, they explored each other. Well, one very specific part. Adrien lost track of time--a common enough occurrence during the party, at least--and was deeply thankful that Marinette had shown him a Maximum Lovely time in the shower and in his pajama pants, earlier. If he’d still had all that pressure built up, he would have  _ doubtless _ given Nino a sudden, unavoidable lacquering with some of his personal  _ noixx _ medley, and that’s always a tidbit embarrassing. 

 

It is always best to communicate that you’re about to glaze somebody, after all. 

 

When Alya sidled up to him, matching her curves to his back, he must have tensed in excitement, because Nino gave a soft little chuckle against his lips. 

 

“Hey hot stuff,” whispered Alya. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you.”

 

“N-not at all,” said Adrien, intercepting a particularly enticing thrust from Nino, as Marinette scooted up to him on the other side, likely making a similar statement. “That sounds very good.”

 

Nino’s hand on his cock had been familiar, but incredibly more exciting for being someone else’s hand. When Alya added hers, it was magnified and multiplied even beyond a simple one-palm handie-J.

 

And when he realized that Marinette had probably contributed some of the slickness that Alya’s hand had brought to the stroking, he realized quite quickly that he was running out of time. 

 

“Oh, ohh, oh gosh, pretty soon I’m--”

 

“ _ Foutre _ ,” said Alya. “That’s gonna get messy.”

 

From on the other side of Nino, Marinette agreed. “You know,” she said, and he could hear the sultry, knowing smile in her words, “... we’d better not make a mess like last time. We’re not in the shower, after all.” He felt her weight shifting away from Nino, and closer to him. And lower on the bed.

 

“Yeah let me just get a--” Adrien started, before he was interrupted.

 

“Oh don’t worry about that,” said Marinette.

 

And a third hand snuck its way onto Adrien’s trouser monsieur. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Alya felt a tug on her leg, and scooted down Adrien’s (extremely nice) body to join Marinette at Adrien’s business-level. 

 

“ALYA,” said Marinette, somehow managing to both whisper and scream at the same time, out of earshot of the boys. “HOW DO I SUCK A DICK?”

 

Alya gasped. “Aa! Yeah girl! You’re gonna do it?”

 

“We don’t have a lot of time! Adrien’s got a hair trigger!”

 

“Okay! Crash course! Lips and tongue, keep your teeth out of the way, and watch the angle or you’ll gag! Other than that just go for it!”

 

“Wish me luck!”

 

“ _ Bon pipe _ !”

  
  


* * *

 

 

And Adrien felt something soft, and warm, and wet touch the absolute  _ best _ part of his dick, and it sure didn’t take long after that for him to blast his entire consciousness, sense of self, childhood memories, and immortal soul into Marinette’s mouth.

  
  


* * *

 

 

To her credit, Marinette handled it like a champ. She’d barely done any blowing of  _ any _ job before Adrien was introducing her tonsils to his very personal bechamel recipe. And if Alya and Nino hadn’t been there to keep him from bucking wildly in ecstasy, she figured she’d probably be having a much less pleasant experience, with four thousand percent more gagging. 

 

As it was, cum just tasted kind of weird, and felt kind of funny in her mouth. She swallowed, and smacked her lips a few times, experimentally, still feeling it coating her tongue and teeth and everything. Kinda gross. Not bad, really, felt a little weird to swallow. Just sort of… wonky. And yet, still  _ super _ hot that it was Adrien’s. 

 

All in all, her first blowjob experience was pretty great. The feeling of Adrien throbbing  _ right there _ on her lips and tongue, the sensation of him filling her mouth with romance aioli. She decided that she liked it. She’d need to do some more experiments, of course, but she felt that there was definitely something to the ol’ oral that she would absolutley adore, cum what may. 

 

And as far as convenience went, it was a  _ much _ easier cleanup than the pajama pants fiasco. 

 

She smiled to herself, and swallowed the last lingering Adrien leftovers, before kissing Alya on the cheek and giggling at the dazed and helpless little noises Adrien was making. 

 

“I think you did just fine, my little sexual debutante. Even if Nino could take most of the credit.” Alya slid her hand down Marinette’s back to give her rump a little squeeze, earning a giggle from her friend-with-newly-discovered-benefits. 

 

“I’ll have to tell him thank-you at some point…” Marinette smirked and smacked her lips. “I think I might know how, too.”

 

“Hahha! Look at you. They grow up so fast…” Alya wiped away an imaginary tear. Even in the darkness, Marinette knew her well enough to guess with unerring accuracy what mocking gestures she’d prefer. She poked her in the boob, in retribution, giggling. 

 

“ _ Chienne _ .” 

 

“ _ You’re _ the  _ chienne _ . But hey, if you’re interested…” Alya paused to lay an arm across Marinette’s back, and whisper conspiratorially into her ear. “I think we’d all be fine with that. And besides,” she added, in a more normal whisper. “Your first times are with Adrien right? And now you’ve both given  _ and _ received the gift of mouth hugs. So I think you’re good to go.”

 

Even in her extremely well-pleasured state, Marinette felt those very specific, deep parts of her stir. Yes. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, she was very interested in that. And so it was time to check in with her boyfriend. 

 

She scooted up along Adrien’s (perfect, golden) body, enjoying the lingering hardness of him pressing into her side. He was dazedly kissing Nino and making contented little sounds. He blinked in the barely-dim light as he felt Marinette climbing up him, and beamed down at her.

 

“Marinette! That was amazing! Thank you so much.” He leaned forward kissing her deeply, and Marinette’s heart was briefly a very confused bird that flew into a breadbox, which is to say, flapping wildly in a confined space. “That was… wow.”

 

Marinette couldn’t help but blush. Not everyone gets such nice compliments on their first oral excursion. But, credit where credit’s due…

 

“Well… Nino was the one who did most of the work. I was thinking… Maybe I could give him a little thank-you, too?”

 

“SOUNDS GOOD TO ME,” said Nino, which what was obviously just a casual interest, and not just his boner whispering.

 

Of course, what Alya was up to down there probably wasn’t hurting, either.

 

Adrien sucked in a shaky little breath and his eyes unconsciously darted to Nino. Nino was failing to look nonchalant, even in the dimness of the covers. 

 

“That sounds like a pretty good idea,” said Adrien. “B-but maybe we should both say thank you.”

 

Now it was Nino’s turn to give a shaky little gasp, and the little bird that had replaced Marinette’s heart became much,  _ much _ more excited. The thought of sharing Nino with Adrien was more appealing than it had  _ any _ right to be. That same familiar electric vibration worked its way up and down her spine, and low in her body, from the pit of her stomach to the tops of her thighs, she felt that heated,  _ eager _ clench. 

 

She nodded her head. “Y-yeah. He’s been very polite, after all.”

 

“Is that okay with you, babe?” asked Nino, directing his question to Alya. From the way he was sitting up--both with his torso and with his lil’ Nino--he was definitely hoping for a yes. 

 

Alya was, of course, girlfriend of the year.

 

“Oh, I’ll find a way to keep myself busy,” she said, one hand between her thighs. As she enjoyed her own company, she started laying a line of kisses down Marinette’s back, around her hip, and down her thigh. As Adrien and Marinette kissed their way down Nino’s chest, she positioned herself to do something very similar to Marinette. 

 

As Alya’s breath warmed the tender skin between Marinette’s legs, and as she watched Adrien tentatively lay a kiss on the underside of Nino’s exclamation point, she heard one thing whispered under Nino’s breath.

  
“Adrien, dude, you sure know how to throw a party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important note, y'all! It's always the best idea to negotiate and talk about what you're comfortable doing *BEFORE* you get naked. All of the folks in this scene were well informed and consenting, but in case you find yourself with an opportunity like this, it's always better to set boundaries before you start getting naked.
> 
> At last, the party draws to a close. The rest of the partygoers are indisposed or asleep, and I've been writing this one single party for 7.5 months, at this point. There'll probably be a wrapup chapter, and then we'll move on the activities in the Greater Bonerverse!


	32. In Which There Are Several Scene Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The climax, climax, climax, climax, and denouement of the party. Sleepy highs-five are exchanged. A room is tidied up. Implications are considered. And a message is misinterpreted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SOME QUITE NSFW MATERIAL**  
> There are parts that are sexually explicit, and others that are sexually suggestive. The middle bits are substantially tamer. There are also dumb jokes and moderately dumb escapades.

_ As Alya’s breath warmed the tender skin between Marinette’s legs, and as she watched Adrien tentatively lay a kiss on the underside of Nino’s exclamation point, she heard one thing whispered under Nino’s breath. _

 

_ “Adrien, dude, you sure know how to throw a party.” _

 

* * *

 

“So do I just--”

 

“You'll do fine,” said Marinette, pulling in a sharp breath and clutching at Adrien more tightly. She was apparently  _ very _ into their shared fellati(Nin)o. “Just try to get the angle right or--aaahhhh!--it'll get your soft palate and--eee!--you'll gag.” For someone who had given her first mouth hug about eight minutes ago, she seemed to have pretty much gotten the idea down--just one more thing impressive about her. Adrien felt her press her body up more snugly to him and practically moan the words into his ear as--

 

A moan sounded from lower on the bed, and Marinette echoed it next to him. 

 

_ Oh right. Alya is helping Marinette multitask… _

 

_ … Better focus on my boy Nino here, then,  _ he thought, and spent a substantial amount of mental effort not to glaze the sheets at the merest thought of all the bed activities. It was a good thing, in terms of bedclothes stickiness, that he’d already  _ coupe’d  _ a  _ noixx _ . He turned back to Nino, who was gripping great big lumps of sheet in his hands and doing a half-sit-up to watch Alya and Marinette. And  _ definitely  _ Adrien.  

 

Adrien swallowed, and he was somehow both drooling and dry mouthed. There was a  _ lot _ of Nino to look at, and he wasn't sure where to start. 

 

_ Well… one part certainly draws the eye.  _

 

Adrien considered the dick. 

 

How does one even approach a dick? Adrien hadn't even been sure he was  _ ever _ going to be sucking a dick, just a few hours ago. And now here he was: dick in range.  _ Nino’s _ dick in range. 

 

From higher up in his bed, the dick-owner in question spoke. 

 

“It's cool dude, you don't have to if you don't--”

 

_ Oh you have no idea, my man _ , he thought. Out loud, he said: 

 

“No! No. I'm gonna. I'm gonna suck this dick. I just… sort of have to take it slow.”

 

Adrien heard the sound of Nino’s blood pressure going up as he replied. 

 

“H-hey man I'm just thrilled you're… yeah! So much! Y-yeah dude!” Nino was practically vibrating under Adrien. He could feel the gentle quiver of Nino’s thigh, and imagined that it was a combination of excitement, anticipation, and the feeling of Marinette muffling a quiet moan into his hipbone. 

 

_ You know, putting a mouth right there isn’t a bad idea at all… _

 

He spread one palm across Nino’s thigh and another across his belly, and pressed his lips into the curve of hipbone directly adjacent to his dandy pepper. He could feel the alert pressure of Nino’s nether-pipe against his cheek as he kissed and nibbled the skin. He slid his hand higher up Nino’s leg, tracing around the skin that Alya had so recently--and expertly--shaved. Every action he took had the delightful effect of producing little trembles and noises from Nino, matching those that Marinette was making to his left. 

 

He heard Nino gasp as he wrapped his fingers around the base of his lusty minaret, and then gasped himself as Marinette mirrored his action, but on him. And then also on Nino. 

 

* * *

 

Marinette’s hands were in dick heaven, and her velveteen palace was in tongue heaven. She gave a little squeeze to Adrien’s dick, Nino’s dick, and Alya’s fingers, respectively, and then went back to enjoying the ever-loving  _ foutre _ out of life. 

 

* * *

 

It was kind of weird having a dick in your mouth, but Adrien kinda liked it, too. More than anything, it was  _ very _ nice to feel the subtle little movements Nino was making, and experiment with how those little twitches and starts matched up to what he was doing with his lips and cheeks and hand and tongue. Next to him, Nino’s fingers were bunched into the sheets, pulling them tight enough that he could have bounced a coin off of them. 

 

“Oh damn, dude…” Nino’s voice was husky and made Adrien’s breath catch and curl inside his chest, right next to his spine, deep down, and he  _ loved _ it. And feeling Marinette’s lips laying a line of gentle kisses from his throat to his earlobe to his his jaw to  _ Nino _ was intensely delightful in its own way. She maneuvered Nino out of Adrien’s mouth to kiss him more fully, and then took a moment to double the number of blowjobs she’d ever given. And it was a  _ sight to behold _ . 

 

Adrien smiled to himself as he started planting kisses along her shoulder and neck, and sliding his hand down her body to bunch in Alya’s hair. He gave Nino a meaningful glance and licked his lips, then turned his attention back to Marinette, who was still sampling Nino. He nuzzled himself into he neck, and kissed a pattern up and around her chin, and down to Nino’s love-spire. 

 

Looks like he and Marinette were going to have to share. 

 

* * *

 

“Oh my word, Nino, you have such a nice dick! Alya! Why didn’t you tell us?”

 

“It can stand on its own merits.”

 

* * *

 

Several moments later, Adrien was arriving at a decision. 

 

“Cum tastes weird,” he said.

 

“I know, right?” said everyone else.

 

* * *

 

Very few things in life are as thoroughly pleasant as sleeping the sleep of the well-mouth-fucked. After the most recent session of bits-gargling (and a break to sneak out and brush teeth--dental hygiene is very important, after all), Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Adrien were quite passed out in a floppy lump, snoring gently for deep, dreamless moments. But for anyone unused to sleeping in a bed with three other people, it is simplicity itself to be woken up by a cuddle-buddy. And when you’ve so recently been engaging in Extremely Nice Activities with your cuddle buddies, you might as well see if they’re up for another go-around.

 

But for now, they were sleeping.

 

* * *

 

Later, Marinette woke up curled into Adrien’s side, she had a very good idea. 

 

“Psst, Adrien, psst--make out with me.” She kept her voice low, trying to let her other bedmates sleep. Etiquette!

 

“Mmmmmnhh, yeah! Okay!” He turned his face to her, feeling for her in the sub-sheet darkness, and bringing his fingertips up to her cheek. He kissed her, and it was tender, and sweet, and was a wonderful counterpoint to the rather intense few hours beforehand. 

 

Of course, they got a little more heated as the kissing continued. Marinette could only savor the trembly-warm sensations of being kissed by her beautiful, sweet, very  _ naked _ boyfriend next to her very naked self for so long, before she absolutely needed to romantically escalate some things. 

 

She traced a finger down Adrien’s chest, down his  _ extremely _ happy trail, to circle her fingers around--

 

\--Someone else’s fingers.

 

“Hey, what’s up,” said Nino, from Adrien’s other side, and slightly lower in the bed. 

 

Adrien lifted one hand to the back of his neck and looked as bashful as he could in the near-darkness. “We… may have kinda gotten started before you woke up.”

 

* * *

 

Later, Adrien found himself spooning against an extremely lovely set of curves. He pressed a sleepy kiss into Marinette’s neck, and was rewarded with a sweet little mmmmmm of satisfaction. She pushed her rump back onto him a little bit, and his extremely well-attended southern peninsula gave her a tumescent little “hello” pressed up against a butt-cheek. 

 

Adrien smiled to himself and slipped his hand up her body to feel some of those lovely curves. He could seriously get used to sleepovers with Marinette like this, especially if he got to squeeze a--

 

Wait a minute. 

 

He gave her boob another experimental squeeze and gently pinched the nipple, for investigation purposes. 

 

This was a different boob.

 

“Oh no, gosh, sorry!” he said, realizing the identity of his little spoon.

 

“Hey don’t leave me hangin’!” said Alya in an emphatic little whisper, turning back to him and catching his lower lip between hers. “You were doing great,” she said, mumbling around his lip. 

 

* * *

 

Later, Marinette woke up sandwiched between two delightfully warm people. She brushed her cheeks against their respective heads of hair to identify them. Puffy and long on her left: Alya. Pointy and sort of long on her right: Adrien. 

 

And would you look at that, Adrien was up, too. 

 

“Well hello,” he whispered, and she smiled back and kissed him. 

 

And he started kissing lower, and lower, and lower.

 

“Hell yes,” she said to herself. 

 

* * *

 

On her other side, Alya was waking Nino up with a few kisses of her own. He woke up with a sleepy “Aw, yeah, babe,” and kissed back, lower, and lower, and lower. 

 

* * *

 

Under the covers, Adrien noticed that he had company next door. 

 

“Oh hey dude,” said Adrien.

 

“Hey man! What’s up,” said Nino.

 

“Nothing, this just rules.”

 

“Heck yeah.”

 

They high fived.

 

* * *

 

“Oh hey Alya,” said Marinette, above the covers.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Nino treating you right down there?”

 

“You--aaah!--you know it,” she replied. 

 

They high fived.

 

* * *

 

Later, after her side-by-side oral escapade with Alya, Marinette was feeling extremely cozy. 

 

Eyes closed, she enjoyed her various surroundings. 

 

_ What’s that? I think there’s a girl in my titties _ , she thought, as Alya snored from her cleavage. 

 

_ Huh, is that a dick on my leg? I guess that’s Nino, _ she thought, as Nino snored into her shoulderblades.

 

_ Wait a minute is Adrien just laying across all three of us _ , she thought, as Adrien snored from an entirely different angle from everyone else. 

 

_ Pretty sweet _ , she thought, and drifted back off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Later, Adrien woke up to a Nino curled up into his chest. 

 

“Oh hey Nino,” he said, wriggling his arm under Nino’s head.

 

“Hey man. You’re super nice and warm.”

 

Adrien gave a little chuckle. “Thanks. You too!”

 

“Alya abandoned me to go squeeze Marinette’s butt.”

 

“Yeah I know the feeling,” agreed Adrien.

 

“Same,” said Nino. “Can't blame her.”

 

A few moments passed of the two boys warming each other up, as they slowly became aware that they were definitely still naked.

 

“So…” said Adrien.

 

“So,” said Nino.

 

“Want to make out some more maybe?” 

 

“Oh my gosh yes.”

 

* * *

 

Later, the sun rose. 

 

“Who’s this son of a bitch,” mumbled Juleka to the sun, and turned over to be face-down, sun-avoiding, her face to Rose’s lap. 

 

Except it was more like Rose’s boobs, and Rose wasn’t lying down parallel to Juleka anymore. She’d stealthily rearranged herself so that her back was on the couch cushions and her boobs were cushioning Juleka’s head. And her hand was over her mouth, and her eyes were closed, and she sure was breathing hard. 

 

Juleka looked the other way, to where Rose’s hips and legs were hanging over the edge of the sofa, to see a bright red head of hair working some magic between Rose’s thighs. It looks like Nathanael and Rose had found an excellent way to spend their early morning hours. 

 

Juleka smiled to herself. It was  _ extremely _ sweet of them to try not to disturb her. But, now that she was awake, and Nathanael was trying out some mouth activities on Rose…

 

Why, might as well enjoy the show. 

 

She slipped her hand lower on her body, between her thighs, and listened to the wonderful little sounds Rose was making.

 

* * *

 

Alya woke up, slipped out of the tangle of limbs that had cuddled and/or groped her throughout the night, and yawned as she went to brush her teeth. In a glassesless daze, she smacked her lips, drank a little water, and started back to bed. Why rush the whole waking-up process, you know?

 

“Um… hey,” said someone. 

 

She blinked, owlish temporarily and uncharacteristically unobservant without her spectacles. In the morning light, she squinted, and saw that the room was not nearly as dark or as unpopulated as she had originally neglected to notice. Ivan, Mylene, Kim, Alix, Max, Nathanael, Rose, and Juleka all waved at her. 

 

_ Waaaait a minute _ , she thought to herself, and looked down.

 

“Oh right,” she said, as she halfheartedly covered her boobs and Lady Wifi-pubes with her hands. “Shut up,” she said, trying to hide her blush as she snuck back under the covers with her boyfriend and maybe her other boyfriend and maybe her girlfriend.

 

… They’d probably have to have a conversation about that.

 

“Uuuuugh, Alya, you left me…” mumbled Marinette as she re-ensconced herself between Alya’s breasts. “Oooh, warm,” she said. 

 

_ Probably even more warm from the blushing _ , thought Alya.  _ Whoops _ . 

 

But it wasn’t embarrassing enough to keep her from drifting off again in Marinette’s arms as the rest of the party enjoyed a slow, sleepy morning. 

 

* * *

 

“ _ Very  _ funny, Kim,” said Adrien, waking Marinette up. “Will you please return our clothes?”

 

Marinette refused, for a moment, to accept that she was awake, and so stubbornly kept her eyes closed tightly, pressed into Adrien’s side. Alya, next to her, started stirring, too. 

 

Outside the covers, Kim was failing to sound innocent. 

 

“Huh? I don't know what you mean, man. I didn't do anything. I definitely don't know where your clothes are.” She could hear the smile in his voice. 

 

“Mmno talk. More sleep,” she said, cuddling harder, adamantly refusing to be awake. “Boysleep. Ung.”

 

“Okay well will you get some for me? We kind of… need them.” A chorus of ooh-la-las met Adrien’s request. 

 

_ Ungrateful _ , he thought to himself, and even his internal monologue had a grumble. 

 

“If it helps, I think I know where  _ one _ article of clothing is…” Alix trailed off as she pointed to the ceiling. Adrien’s gaze followed, even if the rest of him was being anchored by a very warm Marinette. 

 

He sighed when his eyes reached the ceiling. 

 

Stuck up there, within Alix-reach of his rock-climbing wall, were his pajama pants.  _ Someone _ clearly remembered the pants fiasco from last party. 

 

“Nice job dude!” said Kim. “Got that density. Lotta adhesive power.”

 

“I would calculate that it requires at least--” Max was cut off by a mumble-interruption from the covers next to Marinette. 

 

“Nuh uh that's not where any of the cum went,” she drawled. “Tastes weird,” she mumbled, and started snoring again. 

 

Only to be woken seconds later by her subconscious blushing reflex. 

 

* * *

 

Nothing wakes you up faster or more thoroughly than realizing you sleepily bragged about swallowing some jizz. Of course, nothing makes you less able to face almost all of your classmates than that, either. Even if some of those classmates (Rose, Mylene) were giddily applauding, rather than giggling. 

 

Adrien and Nino were  _ very _ chivalrous, deciding to brave the open air,  _ au naturale _ , in a scavenger hunt for everyone’s clothes. Each with one hand moderately covering the junk, one hand collecting garments, both Adrien and Nino discovered how sinister a mastermind Kim could be. 

 

“And you fiends  _ just watched it happen, _ ” said Nino to the massed, giggling throng. “How dare you.”

 

Nino’s shirt was hanging off of the rock wall. Alya’s panties were on the spiral staircase rail. Adrien’s boxers were dangling from the zip line (and his pants were on the ceiling, thank you Alix). And Marinette’s pajama bottoms had turned Adrien's arcade into Pants Pants (French) Revolution. 

 

And that was just what they managed to find on their first pass. 

 

“Come on girls, give us a show!” said Myelne, teasing the two still under the covers as their naked boyfriends scampered about on their clothing scavenger hunt. “Alya already showed us the goods!”

 

“Mylene you  _ traitor _ ,” said Alya, head and shoulders poking out from beneath the duvet, barely hiding her giggles. “Run, Nino! Run in slow motion!”

 

“...Slower!” said Marinette. She hadn’t managed to un-embarrass herself enough to emerge from the covers entirely, but she’d managed to get the sheet below eye level to watch the boys scamper around. It was a lovely, if absurd, sight. 

  
There was lots of dangling.

 

The somewhat-more-clad partygoers had collected themselves onto Adrien’s couches and were slumped over onto each other, munching from the seemingly inexhaustible supply of Marinette’s pastries. Rose had somehow acquired orange juice, and Alix had produced coffee and energy drinks. In contrast to the livelier energy of Marinette’s morning-afterparty, Adrien’s couches were hosting a fleet of considerably more exhausted and teens. Potentially because the party had gone on a bit longer; potentially because everyone had gotten even more laid. 

 

“Adrien, bro, your bath tub is great, but it’s not super comfortable to sleep in.” Kim retrieved his arm from under the blanket it shared with Alix and Max, and rubbed his neck. “I got a race and whatever coming up. Not cool.”

 

...Or maybe because some folks had made unwise slumber choices. 

 

“You slept in my tub? That wasn’t a great idea.” Adrien was dangling from his zip line, trying to retrieve a pair of pajama bottoms from a light fixture with the tip of his fencing foil. “You had a sleeping bag out here and everything.”

 

“Correct, Adrien, but that course of action would have required us to  _ move _ ,” complained Max. “And after our activities, we were all quite disinclined.” 

 

Alix mumbled her assent from Ivan’s lap, where she’d decided to locate her upper body, while her legs were safely ensconced in Max’s. Ivan was the meat in a colorful-lady sandwich again, as Mylene teased Alya from the safety of his immense t-shirt. And Rose was clearly enjoying being the center of attention, nestled between Nathanael and Juleka. 

 

Cute, thought Alya, but given that they had all allowed Alix and Kim to hide their clothing, also  _ fiendish _ . She pulled Marinette a little bit closer to her, fully aware of the fact that Marinette was more under the covers than she was, and that she would be getting a faceful of titty.

 

“And yet you did this to us,” said Nino, as he did auto mechanic slide under the sofa, to retrieve Marinette’s sleep-shirt. “Dude,” he said, for emphasis. His position left his lower half exposed, protruding from the couch, and he was met with a chorus of oohs la la. When he emerged, shirt in hand, he positioned it artfully across his nethers and went hunting for the last bits, muttering an exasperated, “Dude.”

 

* * *

 

“At last, we return, ladies.” Several ogling-filled minutes had past, but at last, the boys had collected the disparate parts of their wardrobe--though Adrien had decided to abandon his pajama pants on the ceiling, for now. Nino and Adrien presented a stack of clothes to the two resident bed-lumps, holding the garments at slightly above thigh-height. Both of the boys were still lacking clothing entirely, of course. Ivan wolf-whistled at the booty, which mirrored the general disposition of the room. 

 

Four hands poked out from the covers to retrieve the proffered clothes, and Adrien snuck his way back under the covers after them. Nino was hot on his heels, and as the rest of the classmates giggled at the awkward lumps under the duvet, bonking and oopsing along, as they tried to actually get some clothes on. 

 

“I don’t even know why you’re embarrassed,” said Kim. “Alya was partly naked all night.”

 

“ _ Context _ , you olive loaf,” said Alix as she slapped him gently upside the head. “Read the room! We’re not all about to make out with each other right now. Just some of us.”

 

“Oooh, where?” asked Rose, makeout queen. She had maneuvered to drape partially on Nathanael, and partially on Juleka, and looked  _ very  _ pleased with herself. After looking around but not seeing any significant makeouts going on, she grumbled lightly to herself and pulled Juleka down to her lips. “There!”

 

* * *

 

The (quite literal) foursome on Adrien’s bed finally emerged, with predictably incorrect clothing. Alya wore Marinette’s shirt, and Nino’s pants. Marinette had Nino’s shirt on, and Alya’s pants. Nino had somehow managed to wind up in Adrien’s shirt and Marinette’s pants. Adrien was looking pretty damn good in Alya’s top, but had wound up in a pair of pajama pants that none of the four of them had been wearing. They were pink, and very short on him. 

 

All four of their eyes turned to Rose. 

 

She peeped at them from over the back of the sofa, giggled, and lifted one of her legs in the air. It was cute, and entirely bare. 

 

“I figured that you’d need some more pants! After all, Alix made Adrien’s very hard to get to.” Her eyes--and everyone else’s--dipped to the distinct snugness that Rose and Marinette’s pants were displaying on the boys. “Keep them on, please?” 

 

Nino and Adrien looked down, realized that they were leaving  _ very _ little to the imagination, and in unison turned around and adjusted themselves to a tiny modicum of modesty. Of course, the fact that they had turned in the direction of Alya and Marinette truly limited the “modesty” involved, but the girls didn’t seem to mind. 

 

They snickered, held some hands, and joined the rest of the party.

 

* * *

 

The aftermath stayed considerably more low-key than Marinette’s party, potentially due to the fact that Alya wasn’t doing any cooking, or that everyone was thoroughly drained from unorthodox sleeping arrangements, and various sexual encounters. Everyone had gotten in on some action, so some sleepy high-fives were exchanged. 

 

After fortifying with some juice from Rose, people started leaving--more likely than not, to attempt an actual amount of sleep in their more familiar beds. Light slanted in at steeper and steeper angles, and Adrien’s party finally drew to a close. 

 

The last four there were Adrien, Marinette, Nino, and Alya, and they all had something bigger to talk about than a too-sleepy morning really allowed for. They exchanged warm, soft hugs, and tentative, but still sweet, kisses, among all of them, and then they left, still buzzing and toasty from what they’d experienced the night before. 

 

* * *

 

Marinette reached the door of her home with two empty bins of pastries before the snoring, adorably hungover red orb snoozing in her handbag brought something to mind. 

 

_ Fuck, I have to go be Ladybug at Adrien’s house _ .

 

She ran upstairs, bungled a good-morning to her parents **,** and was in spots and out of her skylight in moments, back to Adrien’s house.

 

* * *

 

Adrien was cleaning his room up, when he accidentally woke up Plagg from his nap under a discarded pile of wine bottles. The kwami loaf’s presence shocked him into recollection. 

 

_ Fuck, I have to be Chat Noir somewhere else before Ladybug shows up _ . 

 

He was already halfway out the window when he activated his transformation and bolted away from the mansion, to intercept a Ladybug who might be coming at  _ any second _ . 

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir raced back to his own bedroom, burst into the bathroom, and turned on the shower. Hey, now there’s a good alibi.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, yeah! Yep, Adrien’s in the shower, I think. Just saw him go in there, definitely!” said Chat Noir.

 

Ladybug pondered walking in on him. After all, she knew he’d be interested… and she’d already seen him in the all-together…

 

But no.  _ Marinette _ had been with him last night, and the poor sweet boy had had a big enough night already. She smiled to herself, and thought about the best way to re-seduce her boyfriend as her superhero self. 

 

Chat caught her little grin. 

 

“Something tickle you, my laaaaadyyyyyuuaaaahhh?” he asked, slurring his words into a yawn at the end. He covered his mouth with a hand as he finished the yawn, blinking at the little yawn-tears that popped up in his eyes. “Phew,” he said. 

 

Ladybug poked him in the ribs. “Busy night, kitty? You look like you could use a sunbeam to nap innnnuuuuuaaagggh, dammit,” said Ladybug, catching the yawn from him. 

 

“Oh, uh… no! Just basic, you know, stuff. Things. Nothing major, nope. Just… tired,” he lied. “Got some major bags under my eyes, you know, under the mask.”

 

“Heh, same,” she said, stifling another yawn. “I stayed up… uh… pretty late. You know, for regular reasons.”

 

“Video games.” 

 

“Bingo,  _ minou _ .” She made a pretense of scanning the party zone, to assess how she’d have to fine-tune her power to clean it all up. It was a pretty impressive scene--Adrien would really have had his work cut out for him if he tried to clean it all by himself. Good thing he had an in with Chat Noir. Speaking of which… “So… you know Adrien, huh?”

 

“Um! Yeah! Just a little! Ha ha, weird coincidence, I saved him or something!” 

 

_ That sounds 100% plausible, _ thought Ladybug. “Do you think he’d mind if I, say… went in to check on him in the shower?”

 

Chat Noir almost lost his balance on the ledge as his baton unexpectedly expanded, pushing him gently off to one side. He spluttered, and flailed, and managed to catch himself. “UM,” he said.

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” said Ladybug. “I shouldn’t just walk in on him. Not cool. I mean, I almost did that one time.” 

 

“REALLY!?”

 

“And that other time. But you know… he’s probably tired.” 

 

“Y-yeah. Tiiireeeeeddddddd,” he yawned, spurring Ladybug to her own yawn. 

 

“And I should probably ask if that’s  _ okay _ first, and everything,” she said, post-yawn. “You know, to not be a creep.”

 

“I’LL TELL HIM,” said Chat. “I mean--you could never be a creep, my lady.” 

 

Ladybug smiled, wider than she’d originally mean to. She booped his nose. “You’re very sweet,  _ minou _ . But I should  _ probably _ do that myself, you know? It’s something of a…  _ delicate  _ proposition.”

 

“I don’t think his girlfriend would mind,” said Chat, who might have been blushing furiously, or maybe it was just exertion from his almost-fall. “I-I-I-I think he mentioned that,” he said, smoothly and confidently. “Like a superheroes-don’t-count rule.”

 

“I  _ know _ my boyfriend wouldn’t mind,” said Ladybug, nibbling her lower lip, and pondering her increasingly voracious sexual appetite, and predilections for dress-up romance. “I think everyone has a rule like that.”

 

“...Really?” asked Chat, and there was something in his voice she hadn’t heard before. Or hadn’t been listening for. 

 

She felt his gaze on her like a weight dimpling her skin, sending ripples of goosebumps across her body in a way that it had never done done before. She was warm in the cold of a November morning. And she wasn’t sure what she’d see if she looked back into those eyes.

 

Or what he would see in hers. 

 

“Yeah. Really,” she said, and swallowed in a suddenly dry mouth. “Makes you wonder about things, doesn’t it?”  _ Why did I add that?! _

 

“Y-yeah. Yep,” said Chat, and they were quiet for a while. 

 

…

 

“WELP, I’d better miraculous this mess up and everything! Yep! Better do that!”

 

“Yeah! Boy, yep! Sure! Adrien will be happy you did! Uh huh!” 

 

After their stellar topic change, the mood followed suit, and Ladybug smiled to herself. Sometimes, abusing your miraculous power was just such a  _ good idea _ . And Tikki was eminently bribeable. She let her smile resolve into pursed lips, and gave a low whistle. 

 

“Whoa, Adrien sure knows how to throw a party, it looks like,” she said, unable to stop herself from smiling again. “Things must have gotten pretty exciting.”

 

“They  _ really _ did,” said Chat, giving Adrien’s bed a little grin. Then he spluttered, for some reason. “I mean, that’s what Adrien said! To me. You know, when I stopped by, right before you got here. To make sure he was ready. Ready for you to come by and do magic stuff. Yeah.”

 

“Well I hope he had a lot of fun,” said Ladybug, barely paying attention to her partner-in-justice’s babbling. Her eyes were glued to Adrien’s bed, too--and how it was still in quite a state of disarray. 

 

“Oh it was  _ tres- _ fuckin’ _ -bien _ , my Lady. I mean! So I heard,” said Chat, which obviously didn’t require any further analysis. 

 

“Same,” said Ladybug, before she caught herself. “I mean! Same as last time I restored the mansion, I bet! Ha ha! Nothing else similar in my experience here, nope! Just same mansion, which I’m going to use magic on, yep!”  _ Nailed it. _

 

Chat Noir lay back against the window sill, stretching his long legs and arching his back in a way that was distinctly on-theme. He gave another yawn as Ladybug gave a wistful glance to the aftermath of an excellent party, and a loose wine bottle still in a prime spinning locale. Which he completely neglected to notice, of course.

 

He yawned. “Thank you so much for this, Ladybug. Iiiiiiiiiiaaaaadrien definitely appreciates it. Wow, another yawn right when I said his name! Yep, sure am sleepy!” said Chat, in such a way as to not arouse suspicion at all. 

 

Ladybug only nodded, lost in her own memories, and paying minimal attention as she summoned her Lucky Charm--a bottle of red-with-black-spots mouthwash. 

 

She and Chat gave the Lucky Charm a perplexed look, then the same look to each other. Then they shrugged.

 

“Let’s try to keep this low key when you use the miraculous power,” said Chat, putting his hand on top of hers, as she was about to fling it into the sky. “We probably shouldn’t make it look like Ladybug is doing a favor to the Agrestes, you know?”

 

“Good idea,” said Ladybug, focusing. “See? This is why we’re a team.” She crouched down low on the windowsill, and gently flicked the charm into the air. “ _....miraculous ladybug…!”  _ she whispered. 

 

Her theme music played, Chat Noir humming along, as he often did. A relatively subdued flash of magical ladybugs and light, and Adrien’s room was cleaned up, reorganized, and re-protected with the Agreste mansion security system. 

 

“INTRUDER ALERT. PLEASE LEAVE THE PREMISES OR THE ALARM SYSTEM WILL SOUND,” said a mechanical voice. 

 

Ladybug started, and looked at Chat Noir.

 

“Heck!” he said. “I forgot--uh… I mean… I forgot that Adrien told me he only short-circuited the the sensors on the last window! The rest of the system can detect us. Sorry!”

 

“So… run for it?”

 

“Yep!”

 

Chat batonned off of the roof, leaving Ladybug to press her lips to the window, leaving a little lip-gloss kiss, before she yoyoed away, herself. 

 

* * *

 

“Adrien’s going to really appreciate this, Ladybug,” said Chat, as they reconvened on the roof of Notre Dame. “I can guarantee it.”

 

“Then maybe put a good word in for me, huh?” 

 

“For Ladybug? I don’t think you need me to sing your praises, my little bugaboo.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

He answered a question (of sorts) with a question, and a bright smile. “Who could even resist Paris’ number one hero?”

 

“Hey, we’re tied for first,” she said, tweaking his nose. “I might just have to try that out sometime. Drop by and let him show me how grateful he can be.” Visions of seducing Adrien in her alternate persona danced behind her eyelids, and she found herself a little bit warm under the fabric of her suit. “I’m a big fan of his, too…”

 

Chat choked on something intangible, and sputtered slightly, at this second delightful implication of the morning. “R-r-eeaaalllly?” he asked, smoothly transitioning from stutter to suave. He was  _ immensely _ glad to be returning to this topic. The implications! 

 

He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back against the roof, the perfect picture of nonchalance. “Well, gosh, maybe you should give it a try sometiiiiiiiaaaaauuughhhm,” he said, another yawn interrupting him. “Uh. But maybe later. He had a… big night. So I heard. From him. That he’s tired. But maybe, uh, any other time.” 

 

“Yeah, I’m a little sore from last night, too.” She caught what she’d said and immediately blushed. “I mean tired! Ha! Funny! Words, right? Who can ever use the right ones?”

 

But Chat was too busy trying to cross his legs and fold his hands in his lap to be paying attention. When he came back to attention, both batons successfully stowed, he remembered something.    
  


“He’s dating a girl named Marinette--he’d check with her first. You know, responsible superhero kissing, and all.”

 

“Definitely a good idea,” said Ladybug, who already had a good idea of how fine Marinette would be with that idea. But Chat was continuing. 

 

“And I heard from Adrien that she might have a bit of a thing for you, too… just saying,” he said, with a totally innocent glance at her from the corner of his eye, not suspicious-looking at all. “Mmmmmmaybe that’s an option…” 

 

Ladybug grinned with one side of her mouth. “The cute one, right? From the Evillustrator incident.”

 

“The  _ very _ cute one,” said Chat Noir, with a grin. 

 

After a slight pause-- _ and where had that pause come from _ , she asked herself--she poked him with her toe and gave him a little click of the tongue. “Interested in your friend’s girlfriend? Ooh la la,” she said. 

 

“Hey, everyone gets a superhero freebie, right?”

 

“Definitely,” she agreed. “It’s good to be a superhero.”

 

“Damn right.”

 

Ladybug tapped her chin, leaning back against the sloped roof of the cathedral. “Chat… the rule is that  _ everyone _ gets a freebie with a superhero, right?”

 

“Uh, yeah?”

 

“Like,  _ everyone _ everyone?”

 

“Yeah. That’s kinda the… that’s celebrity crush rules, I think.”  _ Please be suggesting we make out, please be suggesting we make out, please be suggesting we make out... _

 

“Oh my god.”

 

“What? What is it?”

 

Ladybug turned to him, eyes wide with understanding. “Chat, we could make out with  _ everyone _ .” 

 

Chat’s eyes got wide, and his pupils got narrow. It was even  _ more _ than he could have imagined. The implications. The  _ implications! _

 

“Chat! Chat! Stay with me! We have to use this power responsibly!”

 

“‘Sponsible,” he said. “We got sonsibilities.” The poor kitty was clearly overcome with possibility of making out with everyone, ever. 

 

“We can’t just go making out with everyone, right? That seems like it would be… like  _ probably _ unwise.”

 

“Wait!” said Chat. “If we get caught making out with  _ one _ person, then they’re a target. Basic superhero rules! Attack the ones the hero is close to.”

 

“Oh my gosh, you’re right,” said Ladybug, visions of gleefully making out with Adrien as her super-self melting away from her mind’s eye. 

 

“...But if we make out with  _ everyone _ …”

 

Ladybug turned wide blue eyes to Chat Noir, who had just made the potentially best connection in all of human history. She finished the thought. 

 

“...Then no one can get singled out as a target!”

 

“Ladybug, I think we’re  _ obliged _ to make out with everyone, if we make out with anyone.”

 

“It’s really the only responsible thing to do. I agree.” 

 

“Safety first, and all. We have to protect Paris.”

 

“And what could be a better way?”

 

“Good thing I’m bisexual, it turns out,” said Chat Noir.

 

“Same,” said Ladybug. 

 

“Nice,” they said, at the same time, and they fistbumped. 

 

* * *

 

They parted shortly after, heads mutually spinning from the revelation of a possible nuclear option of kissing. If they ever got caught hooking up with a civilian, they’d have to  _ race _ to make out with everyone they knew. Which was a pretty good idea, in a lot of ways. When Adrien finally woke up from his post-party nap, the first thing he looked up on the internet was “first aid for lips if you kiss too much,” which seemed like the responsible thing to investigate.

 

And speaking of responsibilities, Chloe had wanted to talk to him, right?

 

Adrien lifted a sleeping Plagg off of his charging phone--the warmth of the device always attracted the little orb--and checked the time. Late afternoon. Chloe would be done with her manicure by now. Better hit her up.

 

**Adrien: Hey Chlo, you wanted to talk? What’s up! I’m around.**

 

He didn’t get a response right away. When he did, it robbed him of his breath, and pushed making out with everyone to the furthest corner of his mind. 

 

In response, someone had sent him a picture of Chloe’s wrists handcuffed together to one of the posts of her bed. 

 

His heart felt like a snowcone in his chest: shredded and cold. Someone had kidnapped Chloe. There was only one reaction he was capable of producing. For years, she had been his only friend. And she was in danger.

 

“Plagg! Claws out!” 

 

* * *

 

Seconds later he was bounding across Paris, leaping roof to roof so that he could reserve his baton to call for Ladybug. 

 

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…” he kept chanting to himself, dashing to the Hotel Bourgeois. 

 

* * *

 

Several blocks away, Marinette’s earrings began vibrating. 

 

“Marinette? Do you hear something?”

 

Marinette gave her trademark too-broad, completely-not-suspicious smile. “Nope! Nothing at all! Definitely nothing buzzing, ha ha why did I even think of that, right? Weird! Wellp, gotta go! Gotta go… read! Book!”

 

* * *

 

“ _ Tikki what the fuck was that _ ?” asked Marinette, seconds later in her room.

 

“Sorry! I forgot to mute the bugphone!”

 

“ _ What!? _ ”

 

* * *

 

“What have you done with Chloe?!”

 

Chat Noir burst into Chloe’s penthouse suite, ready to kick  _ cul _ and take  _ nom _ s. Or at least track down some clues before Ladybug arrived. He was ready for anything.

 

Except for what he found, of course. 

 

He kicked open the door to Chloe’s balcony, only to see his childhood friend spread-eagled, handcuffed to her bed, stark naked, with Sabrina kneeling between her legs and doing something considerably more than friendly. And Sabrina was wearing a considerably larger amount of  _ leather _ than normal. 

 

A buzzing noise that he’d barely registered clicked off in Sabrina’s hands, and she threw herself across Chloe, to provide some form of concealment. 

 

“Um!” said Sabrina, from about Chloe-tiddy-level. “Get out!?”

 

“Do you  _ MIND _ !” said Chloe, as she tongued the ball gag out of her mouth. “We are kind of  _ busy here _ !”

 

“Oops,” said Chat Noir, slowly backing out of the room, just then remembering the caption that had accompanied the picture:

 

_ She’s tied up right now!  lol :P :P :P XD mdr  _

 

“Sorry!” he said, and vaulted off the roof, making a resolution to pay attention to  _ fucking context clues _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a reminder, all sexual activities that take place in Porte-Boner are fully informed and consensual, which is how all sexual activities should be. Play responsibly, and as safe as you can!
> 
> I love and admire you all. Thank you for reading!


	33. In Which There Are Callbacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien (and Chat Noir) deal with the fallout of interrupting Chloe and Sabrina. A lengthy, awkward conversation is held. Adrien cannot avoid horniness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily sexually suggestive, but only a moderate amount of explicit.

_ “Um!” said Sabrina, from about Chloe-tiddy-level. “Get out!?” _

 

_ “Do you  _ **_MIND_ ** _!” said Chloe, as she tongued the ball gag out of her mouth. “We are kind of  _ **_busy here_ ** _!” _

 

_ “Oh,” said Chat Noir, slowly backing out of the room, just then remembering the caption that had accompanied the picture: _

 

**_She’s tied up right now! :P :P :P XD._ **

 

_ “Oops,” he said, and vaulted off the roof, making a resolution to pay attention to  _ **_fucking context clues._ **

 

* * *

 

Or perhaps, thought Chat Noir,  _ fucking-context _ clues. He’d certainly missed the context of the text, which was: fucking. He could stand to pay more attention to fucking  _ context clues _ , definitely, as well as  _ fucking context _ clues. Or fucking fucking context clues. And the fucking fucking context clues he’d missed had made him stumble, in superhero mode, into an extremely intimate moment. 

 

A solid “yikes” was in order.

 

He remembered saying something like, “Uh, wuh, buh,” while holding his hands in front of his eyes, and rapidly retreating. His egress had been peppered quite squarely with a number of colorful invectives from Chloe, and a glare from Sabrina so intense he felt it sear through the magic leather of his suit. Yikes, indeed. 

 

Double yikes. He’d gotten Chloe’s text as Adrien, but arrived as Chat Noir. Chloe hadn’t seemed to notice, but… 

 

Chat blushed. But both Chloe and Sabrina had been a little bit distracted, probably. And outraged. _ Maybe _ too much to notice.

 

Just in case, this was going to require some of that classic Chat Noir cleverness to safeguard his identity.

 

He batonned his way across Paris, whistling nonchalantly, just another day in the city of love, nothing to see here, no need to pay any attention to the superhero. He spotted an alleyway that would suit his purposes, and backflipped his way there. Again, totally normal.

 

He landed, confirmed that there were no witnesses, and cleared his throat.

 

“OH WOW,” he said, in his most credulous voice. “I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT BELOVED SUPERHERO CHAT NOIR IS HERE, SAYING HELLO TO ME, ADRIEN AGRESTE! A DIFFERENT PERSON!”   
  


“THAT’S RIGHT,” he said to himself, in his Chat Noir voice, which was of course just  _ his _ voice, with context. “I, CHAT NOIR, AM NOW VISITING YOU, ADRIEN, AND YOU ARE STANDING ACROSS FROM ME IN THIS ALLEY.”

 

“THANK YOU FOR THE CONTEXT,” he replied to himself. He was  _ nailing  _ this.

 

“DON’T WORRY ABOUT THAT EARLIER THING YOU WERE CONCERNED WITH, ADRIEN,” he said. “I CHECKED IT OUT AND EVERYTHING IS FINE. CARRY ON, CITIZEN.”

 

“OH GOSH THANK YOU, CHAT NOIR,” he said to himself, and also to the world at large. “I’M SO GLAD THAT YOU, A DIFFERENT PERSON THAN ME, TOLD ME THAT!”

 

“ALL IN A DAY’S WORK, CITIZEN. WELL I BETTER GO. SUPERHERO STUFF.”

 

“YEAH SAME HA HA BYE!”

 

_ The perfect crime _ , he thought, as he climbed back up onto the roof.  _ My cover is impeccably intact _ . 

 

He still had to have a talk with Chloe, though. His eyes flicked to the top floor of the Hotel Bourgeois. 

 

… The talk could maybe wait a few hours.

 

* * *

 

Moments before:

 

Chloe was  _ really _ starting to enjoy herself when Chat- _ foutu- _ Noir burst into her suite, blathering on about something or another. It completely derailed the lovely string of whines and pleads she’d laced together--and she’d been practicing. Chloe did find herself grateful that she’d foregone the blindfold this afternoon, though. It allowed her to level her absolutely  _ most _ vicious eye-roll at the  _ clearly _ inferior of Paris’s superheroes. 

 

Why couldn’t  _ Ladybug _ come rescue her from this dastardly domme?  _ Surely _ the lucky lady would be interested in how grateful Chloe could be, after all. And Sabrina could take pictures, and the toys were already set out, and--

 

But no.  _ Chat _ had shown up.  _ Perfect _ . She realized she was rolling her eyes at herself, in her own head. 

 

“Um, get out?” said Sabrina, covering Chloe protectively. The benefits of a… what was it called… service top? But: as nice as it was to have her weight on top of her, it was decidedly  _ not _ the scenario they had been enacting seconds before. Clashing aesthetics, much? Ugh.

 

“Do you  _ MIND _ ,” said Chloe, pushing the ball gag out of her mouth with her tongue.  _ I really must speak to Sabrina about her awful strapping-in skills… later _ . “We are kind of  _ busy here _ !”

  
Chloe lifted one leg straight into the air, as dramatically as possible, then bent it at the knee, formed her foot perfectly  _ en pointe _ , and jabbed her toe at the door, firmly, three times. 

 

_ Sticks m legy out really far,  _ she thought to herself. Before she could control herself, she scoffed, which she had trained herself to do instead of laughing at her own embarrassing addiction to antiquated memes.  _ No. Focus. Now is not the time for memes. _

 

Certainly, it was rude to point, and it was probably considered rude to gesture with your feet, but it was  _ unconscionably rude _ to interrupt  _ her and Sabrina’s very private entertainment _ , so she felt warranted. And she was, after all, a Bourgeois. And how  _ dare _ Chat Noir infiltrate the Bourgeois Boudoir?

 

The only pussy that was going to be the center of attention was  _ hers _ .

 

Of course, she couldn’t fully gesture with her hands, given the handcuffs, but what did that matter? Chat Noir was the one at fault here,  _ not her _ . It was quite refreshing to realize that, all told. Quite a change of pace. And she could at least throw a couple English fingers his way, or as they say in France,  _ l'oiseau _ .

 

“Insufferable,” she said into Sabrina’s hair as Chat spluttered his way out of the suite. “‘Buh, uh wuh, look at me, I burst into people’s boudoirs without asking, duh hurrr, I’m Chat Noir, buh.’ That’s you!” she said, fuming in the direction of the fleeing superhero. “Ugh. Ruined. Sabrina, he ruined it. You can let me go now.”

 

Sabrina removed herself from Chloe, and ran her gaze along her body, adjusting her leather corset. She looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping the currently-still “marital aid” to her lips. Then she smiled, and adjusted one of her elbow-length gloves.

 

“So demanding, Bourgeois?” she said, getting that  _ wonderful _ little edge to her voice again. “And after I drove off Chat Noir? I think not. You are at my mercy once again.”

 

A slow smile crept across Chloe’s face. By the time she realized what Sabrina was getting at, she had  _ entirely _ suppressed her reaction at being contradicted. 

 

Sabrina  _ did _ have a point. No reason to derail the  _ whole  _ afternoon… 

 

Chloe made a great show of struggling against her handcuffs and thrashing her legs about ineffectively. The latter took extra concentration--at this point, she had been kidnapped by akuma villains regularly enough that her thrashing muscles were Olympic-quality. She cleared her throat, did a few scales and a vocal exercise to warm up her throat, and began screaming at Sabrina.

 

“Do your worst, Fan-Domme! My father will hear about this! Ladybug will save me and just  _ destroy _ you! I’ll never mmmphhrmmrmmurhg,” said Chloe, as Sabrina--sorry,  _ Fan-Domme _ \--replaced her gag, and winked. 

 

A quiet buzzing sound started up again.

 

The afternoon wasn’t a total loss, after all.

 

* * *

 

Marinette was up in her room, one miraculous earring out, trying to get it to stop chiming.

 

“Tikki! Why is it doing this?” she asked, stage-whispering to avoid the notice of her parents. Luckily enough, her room was essentially soundproof, when the door was closed. She wondered why that was… “It won’t stop chiming!”

 

“It’s because you missed a call, Marinette! Did you never set up voice mail?”

 

“ _ I have voicemail!?” _

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir texted Ladybug to say that everything was okay, detransformed in a separate alleyway, and, whistling, walked to a street cafe as Adrien. He checked the time on his phone--only a few minutes. He’d need to wait considerably longer to visit Chloe. Once she had… ahem… finished up. Completed. Come to fruition.  _ Come _ . So to speak. 

 

_ Wait, no one speaks like that _ , said Adrien.  _ She was just getting super plowed _ . 

 

_...Well I have a pretty good idea what Chloe was planning to talk to me about. Maybe? _

 

He ordered coffee, and sat down to wait, and to process.

 

* * *

 

The earrings chimed again, but differently. 

 

“Tikki! What?” 

 

“Now you’ve got a text message, Marinette! As Ladybug, I mean.”

 

“This thing can get  _ texts?! _ ”

 

Tikki crossed her nubs. “ _ That’s _ what you’re hung up on? Truly?”

 

“Fine,” said Marinette. “I can just transform and manage all of this  _ suddenly telecommunicative  _ miraculous.”

 

“Oh,” said Tikki, floating to eye level, holding her arm-nubs behind her back, and rubbing her foot-nubs together, bashful. “I definitely need some more time. Cookies, and all. But you can just have the text read aloud. Text-to-speech! So handy.”

 

“What?” Marinette held the tiny dome of the earring up to her face, squinting at it. “What?”

 

“Yeah, it’ll read it to you! Just press it right there.” She nub-indicated a nondescript part of the jewelry.

 

Marinette pressed the earring, and a tiny, slightly-off Tikki voice emerged from it. 

 

“You have one new text message,” said the voice, which sounded exactly like Tikki through a mobile phone. 

 

Marinette gave Tikki an incredulous look.

 

“Who did you think was going to do the voiceover work?” said the little kwami. “Not Master Fu.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Nothing!” said Tikki, before they were cut off by the message itself.

 

“Message is from--” Tikki’s pre-recorded voice had a little start in it, and when it resumed, the intonation was subtly different. “ _ Chat Noir _ .” As soon as the name was out, the former cadence resumed. “Message reads:  _ False alarm, LB--no emergency at Chloe’s. Disregard. Bien joue, for earlier, by the way. Less than sign, 3, less than sign, 3, less than sign, 3, XOXO. _ ” The voice returned to normal Tikki intonation. “End of text message.”

 

“Oh, that’s good,” said not-pre-recorded-Tikki. “Looks like it’s fine!”

 

“ _ How did I not know about this _ ?”

 

“It never came up! Do you want to text him back?”

 

“What? How?” asked Marinette, inspecting the small, round earring in her fingers once again. It yielded no secrets. “There’s no keyboard.”

 

“Yeah, it’s T9.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

Tikki pondered. “You know how it’s easy to type on your phone’s digital keyboard?”

 

“... Yeah…” 

 

“T9 is the opposite of that.”

 

As was so often the case, Marinette groaned, and Tikki giggled. 

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Adrien was on Chloe’s balcony, sharing an exquisitely prepared espresso with her. He couldn’t help but notice that she was clearly fresh out of the bath, given her slippers and robe. And that the XY beat from earlier had been replaced with a much calmer ambiance of nature sounds. And she was halfway through a box of chocolate truffles by the time he’d arrived.

 

Huh. Self-care.

 

Regardless, he wasn’t certain where was the best place to put his eyes, given that he’d seen her in the all-together, very recently. And while he’d seen a tremendous amount of peer-group nudity, none of them had been someone he’d known since childhood. Awkward.  _ Plus _ she didn’t know that  _ he _ had seen her in the buff. And so, the eyes roamed.

 

He eventually decided to focus on his coffee. But some explanation was in order.

 

“Um, so, when I got your text message with that… uh… picture… I was worried, and so I… just happened to see Chat Noir, and asked him to check on you, since you looked like, um, you might be in trouble. Or something.”

 

“It was definitely ‘or something,’” said Chloe, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, that cat. Interrupting my scene.”

 

_ Ignoring that for now.  _ “Yep! I heard! From him. When he told me that it wasn’t, uh. An emergency. Or anything. No details. Didn’t have any details, or anything. Because I don’t need to know! Yep, he definitely didn’t tell me anything about--”

 

“Oh, I was having Sabrina pleasure me.”

 

Adrien felt that that would have been the perfect moment to do a spit-take, but he didn’t have the coffee up to his lips at the time, and then the moment passed. No spit was taken, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Chloe look a little disappointed that she’d missed the timing. He took a sip of coffee, to stall for time.

 

“Sexually.”

 

_ There _ we go. Chloe smirked at his reaction--at least  _ that _ was something he was familiar and comfortable with her doing. He dabbed the espresso off of himself and the wide arc he’d sputtered across.

 

“W-well, that’ll do it,” he said lamely, by way of continuing the conversation. “Um. I hope you had fun?”

 

“God, it was unimaginable.” Her voice had a tenor and quality to it that Adrien had never heard before--a vivacity and sincere  _ joy _ in something that Chloe had certainly lacked in every previous encounter he’d had with her. So, that was nice! If a little bit… vivid. Her hand had gone to her throat, and he noticed that she’d squeezed her legs together as she whispered it. 

 

“Good. Yeah, that’s good.” 

 

“Adrikins, I’m  _ considerably _ gayer than I thought I was.”

 

“Oh!” he said.  _ Be cool _ . “Oh! Thank you for sharing that with me. I appreciate that you feel like you can--”

 

“I’d still be down to bone, of course,” she said, raising her eyebrows at him in one of her classic “oh-how-naughty-I’m-being” looks.

 

“Yeah I’ve been getting that a lot lately,” he replied, unthinking.

 

“What?”

 

“What?”

 

* * *

 

“So where are we taking this,” said Alya. Nino had brought her back to his place, for post-party relaxation.

 

“Where are we taking what?” 

 

“Um, the whole do-sexy-stuff-with-our-best-friends thing? Maybe that, you cabbage?” She nestled her body up to his, and pulled him close. “Dork.”

 

“Fine, babe,” said Nino, rolling his eyes. “Of course, yeah. Obvious.”

 

“Isn’t it, though.”

 

“I dunno, I don’t think we have to make a big deal of it.”

 

“But where are we  _ taking it _ .”

 

“I mean, we took it all the way to the Directory and shit, so…”

 

“I meant,” said Alya, poking him in the ribs. “Where are we taking this in the  _ romance way _ . Are we going to date them? Are we gonna outdo the Alix/Kim/Max triad?”

 

“Nah lady-bro, no way we could,” said Nino, accepting the poke with good grace. “They’d just add another two to the mix, to stay on top. Have the biggest relationship, and everything.”

 

“True, true.” Alya pursed her lips, tapping them with one finger.

 

“But I mean… I kind of want to date Adrien, too.” He looked slightly abashed, and didn’t quite meet her gaze. “...And also kind of Marinette.”

 

“You scallywag, holding a flame for her after all this time. I thought I kissed that out of you in the panther exhibit.”

 

“Uh,  _ excuse me _ , you’ve been talking about how every time you see Marinette you get a little more gay for  _ a year _ .”

 

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’ve just been  _ telling you _ for a year. But yeah,” she said, more quietly. “Well honestly, I feel you on that. I’d… I’d be willing to try it. With Marinette, and with Adrien, too.”

 

They were quiet for a moment, after that. Pondering the possibilities, and implications. 

 

“Do you think it’s gonna make it weird?” asked Nino, looking up at Alya. 

 

“Weird?” asked Alya. “What do you mean?” she said, as she put her mask on and finished tying him up with her Ladybug yo-yo.

 

* * *

 

“So in essence, I’m having Sabrina boss me around and dole out arbitrary punishments. She’s doing a passable job at it, but I’m seeing some improvement. I really think I can build her into my kind of domme. It’s  _ so _ much fun, Adrien.”

 

“What? Wait, hold on… that doesn’t sound… Okay, Chloe, don’t take this the wrong way but, getting bossed around doesn’t exactly seem like you. You’re…” He struggled for the most politic way to convey his meaning to Chloe.

 

“Go ahead,” she said, flipping her hand dismissively. “I know already. Plus, Sabrina was probably whispering it to me in between slaps on my--”

 

“ _ You’re _ the bossy one. Right?” said Adrien, interrupting.

 

“It turns out,” said Chloe, as she produced a nail file and began filing her already impeccable nails. “That there’s a kink identity called a ‘brat,’ and I don’t think I need to go into any more detail. Really, it all just fell into place.”

 

“Ahhhh, yeah. I mean!” he spluttered, lightly. “No comment. I mean no comment.”

 

“But regardless, in addition to being my closest confidante, Sabrina is also now my girlfriend.”

 

“Oh that’s great!”

 

“And the sex has been  _ amazing _ .”

 

“That’s… also great!”

 

“She does this thing with her finger while she’s using the vibrator on my--”

 

“Chloe! Whoa! Ease me into the details! You’re my childhood friend it is  _ a tad weird _ .”

 

“Ugh, get on my level.”

 

“Wait…” said Adrien, connecting some dots. “How did you get sex toys? You’re not the right age for a little while longer, right?”

 

Chloe leveled her most Chloe stare at him. “Adrien. Adrikins. Honey. Sweetie. My last name is  _ literally _ Bourgeois. Nothing goes inside me that isn’t twenty-four carat and made by the Swiss. Do you think I can’t buy anything I want? I could have a tiger by midnight.”

 

Adrien blanched. “Please don’t.” The last thing Chloe needed was to develop an exotic pet habit.

 

“Counterpoint: why not? I’ve always wanted a tiger.” She pulled out her phone. “Let’s see…”

 

“Chloe,  _ please _ .”

 

“But if I  _ do _ buy a tiger, Sabrina might just spank me for being naughty. Matter of fact…” She began texting someone. Sabrina? Or her endangered feline connection? 

 

“Again, please, I am  _ just  _ getting used to sexually activated Chloe, please go slowly, okay?”

 

Chloe rolled her eyes, making a personal best for eye-rolls-per-hour. “Fine. I won’t buy a tiger.”

 

Adrien sighed, relaxing.

 

“I’ll just  _ tell _ her I did.”

 

Adrien tensed again.

 

“Then she’ll--”

 

“WELL IT WAS GREAT CATCHING UP,” said Adrien, exiting rapidly. 

 

* * *

 

Adrien only managed to escape Chloe’s TMI clutches after hearing an hours-long breakdown of Chloe’s new favorite books. Apparently, she’d gotten a gift from an anonymous suitor, and had gone full  _ Story of O  _ in the course of a few days. In Adrien’s experience, nothing could be more Chloe, in terms of a sexual awakening. She never did things by halves; it was either do nothing (and preferably have Sabrina take care of it), or be so incontrovertibly  _ extra _ that the mind boggled at the sheer scale of her extra-ness. Apparently, her newfound sexual predilections let her have a bit of both worlds. And also apparently, Sabrina was with her every step of the way. It certainly  _ looked _ like they’d been having fun…

 

_ Dude, be cool _ , Adrien thought to himself.  _ You just had your oldest friend share some intensely private stuff with you. Maybe be a little tiny bit cool _ . 

 

As he walked back to the mansion, Adrien felt like he’d stuffed eight months worth of erotic horizon-broadening into a weekend. His synapses were firing little serotonin horniness-pellets at themselves and mixing up the whole dang mess, he’d done a wide variety of ooh-la-la activities with his girlfriend, her best friend, and _his_ _own_ best friend, and now TMI Queen Chloe, long may she reign, was sharing her newfound interests with him using her traditional absence of tact or restraint.

 

Well… there was definitely some restraint involved, just not like that.

 

Standing in the atrium of his house, Adrien scowled down at his boner.

 

“Haven’t you done enough?” He put his arms akimbo. “I need a break! No thinking about sex stuff! Aren’t you at least a  _ little _ tired? Take the night off!  _ Merde! _ ” 

 

_ I need to cool this bad boy off _ , he thought to himself.  _ A nice cold shower should do it _ .

 

Except, he realized, when he got into the shower, that the  _ last _ time he’d taken a shower he’d had some  _ very _ nice company. His nethers certainly remembered. And they apparently didn’t mind how sore he already was from an evening of frequent nutting. At least he had somewhere to hang his towel… 

 

He sighed. Can’t take a shower to relax. Too many Marinette memories to handle.  _ Gotta do something non-sexual _ . 

 

It was proving to be difficult. 

 

He tried to watch TV. But the last thing he’d watched was Alya’s bootleg Ladynoir porn. Memories of horniness surfaced; gotta deflect them.

 

(But he of course checked to make sure that he still had the DVD. For the future.)

 

He tried to go to bed early. No dice: he’d gotten  _ incredibly laid _ last night, and this morning, in that very bed. His quest to control his rampaging hard-on would have to continue elsewhere.

 

Maybe the secondary bedroom in his closet--nope. Definitely not. Seven minutes in heaven during the party, seven minutes in hell for his rabidly overused pepper. That closet had seen more action than the Eiffel Tower during akuma season.

 

There was nothing sexy about the atrium--he could just hang out there. Just relax, center himself, stop thinking about all of the sexy things he’d done last night, or that Chloe had described in  _ elaborate detail _ just a bit earlier...

 

… Except that that column  _ right there  _ was what he’d pressed Marinette up against when she’d come by his party early. And those memories were  _ definitely _ not going to help him rest his tired, tired dick. 

 

Maybe a walk would help.

 

* * *

 

The day had wound down into a lovely autumn evening, and the Parisian street life was out and about. The perfect distraction from eros-laden thoughts, exactly what a bone-addled superhero needed to wind down from a weekend full of naked friends and an afternoon full of highly descriptive terminology from a childhood friend. Adrien slid his hands into his pockets, and simply enjoyed walking.

 

He made it two blocks. 

 

At first it was baked goods. One of Paris’s rare, evening-focused bakeries had its attendant bakers lovingly sliding fresh-baked night baguettes into their paper bags. The scent of warm bread filled the air, but it was the  _ innuendo _ of the process that caught Adrien’s eye. 

 

The sensual, flour-covered hands of the bakers. The gentle susurrus of crust sliding into paper. The appealing, yonic opening of the bread-sleeve. The decadent masturbatory motions as each baker slid the shaft of whole-wheat pleasure into its home. The puff of flour glazing a baker’s mustache with white, in slow motion, and that same baker sensuously licking his lips. Every part of the process-- _ Is this just what I think of baked goods now? What happened? _ \--stirred him to a deep, and deeply uncomfortable, sexual awakening. 

 

 _Please, penis_ , he begged, internally. _I just want to go one evening without an uncontrollable boner. You’re so sore. You’re so sore from overuse._ _Let me rest_.

 

And then one baker started pointing out the parts of a danish to a customer. 

 

_ Nope. Nuh uh. _ Adrien turned around, hoping that the other direction had fewer reminders of fingerbanging, among other acts.

 

The other way down the avenue was full of flower shops. Innocent, pure floral boutiques. Nothing to suggest illicit food/person activities. Nothing that would--

 

But the  _ connotations _ . 

 

A woman clearly on her way to a date buried her face into a  _ decidedly _ suggestive bouquet. 

 

_ Just like Alya buried her face in Marinette’s precious lily last night in-- _ No! _ Silence, libido! _

 

He turned away, only to see two young lovers slowly licking their way across the petals of an orchid, while the florist applauded them, like a scene from a botanical  _ Lady and the Tramp _ . 

 

“Yes! Yes, my boys! You must always lick the petals! Lick them  _ slowly _ . Lick them  _ sensually _ ,” said the florist, with the same gusto a certain other Italian described pasta at a photoshoot.

 

That… was quite the unique tactic for selling orchids. Adrien adjusted himself to form a less prominent junk-rudder, and turned to cross the street. Calls of “Lick the petal, boys! Lick the petal and  _ taste _ the flower!” followed him until he rounded the corner. 

 

Rounding the corner was a mistake, of sorts. While the previous block had been home to a boulangerie, this block hosted a more specialized patisserie. And it was just down the street from a modeling studio he used to work with. 

 

And the models, to a one, appeared to have scheduled a cheat day for  _ right then _ . 

 

The street was full of fabulously beautiful people messily dining on suggestive foods. Eclairs squirted custard onto lips and chins. Tongues probed the last bits of sweet ricotta from the depths of cannoli. One woman hefted two jumbo-sized profiteroles in front of her chest, at tiddy-height, as if deciding which to purchase. Several folks were licking the filling out of macarons, held vertically. A trio of models were deepthroating popsicles around a cafe table. 

 

_ Why are they eating popsicles like that?! Why do they have popsicles!? It’s November! _

 

Such was the visual impact of the models’ feast on Adrien that it took him long moments to realize that vendors were hawking their wares. When he recovered enough attention to begin  _ listening _ , the innuendos magnified. 

 

“Oh no! I spilled my seed! It got all over both of you!” One of the many Parisian seed-vendors--a common sight in Paris, so common that his presence was entirely unremarkable--had accidentally tipped his cart over, spilling his seed all over a handsome foursome. Not  _ that _ kind of foursome, but the implication was there nonetheless. 

 

He turned away, only to be confronted by a nutmonger.

 

“Nut! Get your nuts here! A hot load of nut, just for you! Get this savory nut in your mouth today!” 

 

“Oh my goodness, this nut is so sticky!” said a model, attempting to dislodge a particularly adhesive walnut from his fingers. “That’s sticky enough to stick a pair of pants to the ceiling!”

 

_ WHY? HOW!? _ thought Adrien, but the universe wasn’t answering. He turned again, calls of “Everyone wants to get that nut!” following him.

 

But a passing produce vendor was describing the  _ ripeness _ and  _ juiciness _ of a plum. And the  _ firmness _ and  _ girth _ of a cucumber. 

 

_ NOPE _ , thought Adrien, as he turned a third direction, and--

 

Oh no.

 

His attempted flight from the innuendos of the world came to a horrific, crashing stop. In the window of a patisserie, it stood. Impressive. Tumescent. Cream-filled.

 

The croquembouche towered over him, glistening spun-sugar forming a sucrose condom on an immense shaft of cream-puffs. 

 

A croquembouche. The most  _ sexual _ pastry.

 

He had to go. There was too much  _ Paris _ on the street tonight. The Ministry of Young Love likely had its hands full. He had to isolate. 

 

Maybe hanging out at someone else’s place would help.

 

* * *

 

Nino wasn’t answering his phone, but they were good buddies. He’d stopped by Nino’s place a ton of times, and even if Nino couldn’t return the favor due to the Agreste mansion’s security, he knew that Nino would let him hang out and chill, a little. Nino was a really cool bro, like that.

 

And even if he’d definitely gargled his knob last night, Nino’s  _ house _ was always a relaxing place to hang.

 

_ Context _ . It was all about  _ context _ . Nothing weird about two bros hanging out, whether or not any dicks had been sucked, or any outs had been made. 

 

He let himself into Nino’s place, knocking and announcing himself, barely conscious of his surroundings as he tried to synthesize the romance maelstrom in his head. Nino’s place would help him chill. It always helped. Even now, it was calm and quiet, with only the barest hint of electronic music. Hey, maybe the parents Lahiffe were out, and he could concentrate just on chilling with his best buddy. 

 

“Nino?” he called, but heard no answer. No big deal, that--Nino usually zoned out listening to his music. He’d had a big weekend, he deserved some quiet time. He went deeper into the flat, towards Nino’s room at the back. As he’d expected, the tunes were noticeably louder back here. Classic Nino, rocking out to his French electronica after a big party! Classic. 

 

Adrien gave the door a cursory knock and let himself in. 

 

“Hey dude, do you mind if I--”

 

He froze. 

 

“Bubbler? What the--”

 

Nino’s akuma identity, the Bubbler--one of Papillon’s earlier, and less successful, akumas--was standing in Nino’s room, arms above his head in a menacing pose. He appeared to be wielding his bubble-wand with both hands, and his magical spandex was stretched tight over his body, outlining a considerably better muscled physique than Nino had had years ago, when he’d been akumatized. His legs were spread, stance solid, and he was clearly in the middle of giving a battle cry when Adrien had entered. 

 

_ The Bubbler again? Has there been another attack? Can you even  _ be _ akumatized more than once?  _ Adrien balled his hands into fists, reaching one into his pocket to poke Plagg awake.  _ Damn it! Can’t Papillon take a whole damn weekend off one of these days? _ His breath caught in his throat.  _ Time to trans-- _

 

But something was subtly off...

 

Adrien kicked himself for not realizing that there was someone else in the room. Of course, he could be forgiven, given that the other spandex-clad figure was kneeling in front of the Bubbler, and had a considerably more muted color scheme: all black…

 

_ Wait a minute… _

 

… With a few splashes of silver…

 

_ WAIT a minute… _

 

… And a leather belt for a tail…

 

_ Wait a MINUTE…  _

 

...And a pair of perky black cat ears on top of a mop of blonde hair.

 

_ WAIT JUST A GOSH DARNED MINUTE! _

 

“Chat  _ moi _ \--r? I mean, Chat Noir?” asked Adrien, hugely confused. He blinked, then blinked again, and then continued blinking, but wasn’t having any additional luck making sense of all of this. What was  _ he _ , of all people, doing kneeling in front of the Bubbler, of all places? In Nino’s house? Wasn’t he, you know…  _ not _ in front of himself?

 

Then the faux-Chat turned to face him, and pieces started falling into place. 

 

The music: Daft Punk.

 

The Bubbler’s suit: apparently has a fly opening.

 

Chat Noir: somehow acquired a beauty mark above the right eye. 

 

… And somehow acquired curly red hair under a messy blonde wig. 

 

… And somehow acquired a mouthful of the Bubbler’s dick.

 

… And had apparently modified the Chat-suit to be crotchless.

 

_ Ohhhhhhh _ …

 

In the quiet while everyone took some time to react, Adrien observed his surroundings in more detail, confirming his growing suspicions. Yep, the Bubbler was definitely not posing threateningly. He appeared to be tied up by the wrists, to the ceiling. Yep, that was definitely Daft Punk, playing. Yep, this “Chat Noir” was considerably more curvaceous than Adrien was. Yep, that hadn’t been a battle cry, but an… exclamation of a more intimate nature. And yep, the kneeling superhero had just made a very audible swallowing sound. But of course, the voices really sealed it.

 

“Hey dude,” said Nino. Of  _ course _ it was just Nino. Of  _ course _ he was just dressed up as his akuma villain. And looking  _ very _ post- _ pipe _ relaxed. “‘Sup?”

 

“Buh?” Adrien asked, succinctly.

 

“We were kinda doing a thing on our own,” said Alya, extricating a very different type of baton from her mouth and licking her lips. “You know, just blowin’ bubbles.”

 

“Nice pun, babe, super in character!” Nino beamed down at his girlfriend, his blue face paint cracking slightly, then turned back to Adrien, a floppy half-smile on his lips. “You can come back later, or something, man.” Nino shrugged, as much as was possible while in both cosplay  _ and _ tied to a hook in the ceiling. “I’d be down.”

 

“Oh yeah totally,” said Alya-slash-Chat-Noir. “We’re just getting started. I just figured you’d be tired from last night. But I suppose…” She pulled on her costume’s bell, unzipping her top, and prompting Adrien to wonder if  _ his _ did that, too. Alya blew him a little kiss and bit her lip. “I  _ do _ have more of ‘Ladybug’s’ yo-yo string around here somewhere… WINK.”

 

After a moment, Adrien realized that this situation probably called for a response of some sort, instead of blank-faced staring. What do you do in situations like this? What would Ladybug do?

 

...What would  _ Chat Noir _ do?

 

Well, obviously...

 

“CARRY ON, CITIZENS,” he said, and turned around, closing the door behind him.

 

_ Nailed it. _

 

* * *

 

Clearly, the world wanted to get Adrien horny, yet again. No two ways around it. The whole of Paris was conspiring to get him thinking of sex. Only thing to do now is give in. He made his way back to his room, dodging innuendo after innuendo. He lay down on his bed, glared at his own erection, and pointed a finger at it.

 

“You win this round, bucko.”

 

And then he grabbed a handful of tissues and started remembering literally anything from the past thirty six hours.

 

* * *

 

Later, when four specific classmates around Paris were sexually sated (again) (because obviously Marinette rubbed one out, too, she has a rate to maintain), they all took a moment to check their phones. Each of them typed out a brief message, then deleted it, then typed it again. Then added some recipients, then removed them, then added them again, then deleted the message, then rewrote it. 

 

Eventually, after a few rounds of that, all four of them pressed the “send” arrow at the exact same time, and each felt three back-to-back buzzes of their phones. The message history showed a four-person group text that hadn’t existed until just that moment, when each of them had messaged the same four people, at the exact same time, without knowing they were doing it. The messages had some similarities:

 

**Marinette (23:28):** So, wanna go out sometime?

 

**Nino (23:28):** hey, let’s get some coffee tomorrow

 

**Alya (23:28):** Let’s set up a date, cherie!

 

**Adrien (23:28):** Can we all hold hands now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh la la! So *that's* what Chloe's been up to.


	34. In Which It Is Christmas In July

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey remember how technically my fic takes place in the fall so far, or something? Well it's the holiday season now! Close enough! Christmas in July! It's not just for capitalism.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is mostly pretty cute vignettes, and a bit of a timeskip. Enjoy!

_ Later, when four specific classmates around Paris were sexually sated (again) (because obviously Marinette rubbed one out, too, she has a rate to maintain), they all took a moment to check their phones. Each of them typed out a brief message, then deleted it, then typed it again. Then added some recipients, then removed them, then added them again, then deleted the message, then rewrote it.  _

 

_ Eventually, after a few rounds of that, all four of them pressed the “send” arrow at the exact same time, and each felt three back-to-back buzzes of their phones. The message history showed a four-person group text that hadn’t existed until just that moment, when each of them had messaged the same four people, at the exact same time, without knowing they were doing it. The messages had some similarities: _

 

**_Marinette (23:28):_ ** _ So, wanna go out sometime? _

 

**_Nino (23:28):_ ** _ hey, let’s get some coffee tomorrow _

 

**_Alya (23:28):_ ** _ Let’s set up a date, cherie! _

 

**_Adrien (23:28):_ ** _ Can we all hold hands now? _

 

* * *

 

“Obviously we rushed into this,” said Nino, as he and Marinette attempted, gingerly, to untangle their hands from Adrien’s and Alya’s. Holding hands with one other person was great--holding hands with  _ three _ other people should be even better. That was the idea. And yet, here they were, Gordianly knotted up into a digital cluster- _ foutre _ . 

 

“Our hands look like Horrificator from behind,” said Adrien, concerned. “I think that’s Alya’s thumb on my palm? And also, ow.”

 

Marinette had one foot braced on the back of Adrien’s hand, and was desperately trying to heave her hand out of the smorgasbord of phalanges. She yelped in dismay at hurting Adrien, lost her footing with both feet, and pulled herself  _ culot sur bouilloire _ onto their small, shared table. Espresso and croissants went flying. Her foot, formerly perched on Adrien’s wrist, was making nice with Nino’s nose. Her head was ears-deep in Alya tiddies. And her rump was, as far as she could tell, 90% marmalade. 

 

“WHyyyyyyYYY,” she moaned, into the sky. Internally, she cursed her unutterable awkwardness returning on her first simultaneous date with Adrien, Alya, and Nino. 

 

She’d hoped-- _ oh _ she had hoped--that she’d managed to eject  _ some _ of her tendencies to flail clumsily since she had been for-real-real dating Adrien for more than two weeks, at this point. She’d  _ hoped _ . And with him, she was fine! Mostly! And yet, the merest attempt to date the two other people that she might also be dating simply  _ swooped _ the awkwardness right back in, making a mess of their very nice coffee date, and lightly assaulting all three of her partners. 

 

“Alya I’m stuck,” she said, pitiably, burying her face in Alya’s bust. “Help meeee…” Adrien gently stroked her hair.

 

“What we need here is a plan, dudes,” said Nino, graciously removing Marinette’s flat from his cheek and returning it to the ground, mostly. He helped slide Marinette back off of the low table, and into a stable position, which for her was kneeling on the ground of the patio cafe, steadying herself with her hand on the table. Three points of contact with solid objects. Very helpful. Very stable. “Maybe like, only one of us should try at once?”

 

“Hang on,” said Alya. She twisted her body, bonking Adrien’s arm with a breast, and tugging Marinette one potentially-disastrous millimeter to the side. Like a Greek wrestler, Marinette spread and gently flailed her limbs, finding her balance, bracing like a skittish dog on a freshly polished hardwood floor, mixing her metaphors all the while. “... Sorry,” Alya said, sheepishly. “Adrien? Can you hand me my purse?” She indicated it, past his chair.

 

“Sure!” He turned to peep it.

 

A kick had knocked it out of her reach, and Adrien noticed it lying by his foot. He weighed his options. One hand was entangled with his three classmates-slash-boy-and-girlfriends. One hand was steadying, and gently petting, Marinette. Obviously, that one had to stay there. 

 

_ Time to get all Chat Noir on this bad boy _ . 

 

He stretched one leg out, hooking the purse with an orange-Chucked toe, and lifted it slowly into the air. Balance was key. A muffled “...bro…” escaped Nino’s lips. With the molasses-slow grace of an extremely good Tai Chi master, and the form of an Olympic gymnast, he rotated his hip, and leg, and foot, keeping Alya’s purse upright, and its contents inside. He arched his back, raising his hips, and curving his foot down to place the purse squarely and perfectly into Alya’s lap. 

 

She blinked, stunned momentarily silent by the acrobatics of the moment. “Whoa! Adrien! I’m impressed.”

 

“He’s beauty, he’s grace,” said Marinette. 

 

“Yeah dude! Alya, applaud with me.” Nino lifted his hand, palm out, and Alya rapidly slapped it in time with him. The overall effect was quite flattering, for two people doing one applause, at least. Adrien gave a slight bow, and retracted his leg from across the table. 

 

An anonymous French bureaucrat from the Ministry of Young Love--the fifth that hour--stopped by the date-mess and lay a rose softly onto their table. It appeared that they also celebrated giving a date the old-lycee-try, even if it was going a little bit pear-shaped. Nino held the rose up to Marinette’s nose as Alya rummaged through her purse.

 

“Perfect!” she said, at last, producing a small bottle of clear fluid. “Everyone, we are almost free.”

 

She popped the lid with her teeth and upended it over their interwoven grabbers. 

 

“Yeek!” said Marinette and Adrien and Nino, in unison, as the chilly fluid dripped along their fingies. 

 

“Okay, wiggle gently,” said Alya, putting action to her words. 

 

“Alya! What’s this cold junk?” asked Marinette, still bracing herself, but giving a few tentative wiggles. “And why is it… tingling?”

 

“Babe is this…” asked Nino, as he dipped his free pinky into the slippery mess and tasted it. “Yeah it is isn’t it.”

 

“Wink.”

 

“But--what even is this stuff?” asked Adrien. “It’s like… super slippery.”

 

“Almost…” said Marinette, wiggling fingers with consistency and determination. “Almost…”

 

“Just some lube,” said Alya. “The warming kind.”

 

“Wait you mean… like  _ personal _ lubricant?”

 

“ _ Exactly _ like personal lubricant. Okay, getting close now…”

 

“Almost…” said Marinette.

 

“You had some high hopes for this date didn’t you, babe…” said Nino, as he rocked his elbow back and forth, trying to loosen the fingertangle. 

 

“I’m an optimist.”

 

“Allllmmoooooooost… There!”

 

With a loud * **POP** *, their hands were suddenly free, and they went tumbling backwards. Which is to say, Alya, Nino, and Adrien rocked back into their chairs, and Marinette skidded a meter or so away. 

 

She regained her footing, carefully, and returned to the table. She sat down, and the dates gave each other a few awkward glances.

 

“So…” said Nino. “We are clearly not as good at holding hands as we thought we were.”

 

Everyone nodded.

 

“And we tried to get into some real advanced configurations there.”

 

Everyone nodded.

 

“We should probably stick to like, one hand on one hand for now, right?”

 

Everyone nodded. 

 

“And also clean up a bit.”

 

Adrien looked down at himself, and the table. Suffice to say, napkins were required. “I’ll go… I’ll see if they have a towel.”

 

He rushed off, looking for cleaning implements, as Alya and Marinette and Nino moved to pick up fallen pastries, upended saucers, and various handholding debris. By the time he returned, they had consolidated the chaos somewhat. Adrien solemnly distributed napkins to Nino and Alya, and let Marinette take a little moment to cover her face and blush furiously. Her embarrassment had been a little delayed, it seemed, and she’d had a rough time. They could handle this for her. 

 

They cleaned, sipped the remainders of their coffee, and apologized to a very understanding waitstaff (young love, after all). Marinette returned from her blush break in time to dab off the most marmaladed parts of her outfit, stack empty plates, and hear Alya’s conspiratorial whisper.

 

“We all agree that we must never speak of this to anyone,” said Alya. They all nodded. No one benefits from Kim knowing about anything embarrassing happening to anyone, let alone  _ Chloe _ . “We take this to our graves.”

 

“Definitely,” agreed Adrien, and stretched his hand out to the center of the table. Instinctively, the other three placed their hands on top of his, in the eternal practice of sealing a pact of this magnitude.

 

Of course, they had just had  _ terrible _ luck with four hands all near each other. All at once, they realized this, and pulled their hands back. 

 

“Phew… close one,” said Nino. “Sometimes I curse your suave, team-player attitude, bro.”

 

“The three-two-one-break tradition is immortal. Hard habit to shake.”

 

“Wait a minute,” said Marinette. “I have a question.”

 

All eyes turned to her.

 

“Alya, do you have any more of that lube? It’s  _ really _ effective.”

 

“Of course, my little cabbage! Always be prepared. You never know when you might need lube,” said Alya, rummaging for spare lube. “Aaaand a- _ wink _ .” 

 

* * *

 

They sat sipping newly-poured cups of coffee, fingers de-lubed, and talking strategy. Nino cleared his throat, and began.

 

“So dude, and dudettes. Obviously we’re going to have to limit this somewhat. Like I like all of you, but jumping straight from hooking up at Adrien’s party--high five--” They high fived. “--to going on a for-real date all together is a big jump. We need to ease into this.”

 

“We’re not  _ awkward- _ awkward,” said Alya. “Except Marinette--”

 

“That’s fair,” said Marinette.

 

“But yeah it feels… off.”

 

“Too much going on?” added Adrien.

 

“Too much going on,” Alya agreed. 

 

“And also, like, mouth stuff aside, I mostly hang out with Adrien as my best friend, you know? I want it to feel different.”

 

“Yeah,” said Adrien. “Romance me, and all.”

 

“It’s not going to, um… get weird or anything right?” asked Marinette, eyeing Alya. “I don’t want it to get weird.”

 

“Relax, girl,” said Alya. “We’ll probably manage fine.”

 

“But we do  _ need _ to manage a little bit. Like if there’s four of us, that’s six distinct two-person dates.” Nino illustrated his point by drawing on his napkin: four dots in a square, four lines connecting the perimeter of the square, and two lines making an X in the center. “So like, we tried to do this date with all four of us, but we stacked in  _ six _ two-person dates, and  _ four _ three-person dates--” he made curls outside the square, to indicate four separate dates that each excluded one of the date-havers. “--and the  _ one _ four-person date. That’s eleven dates. That’s ridiculous. It’s not even funny. That’s too many dates to be happening all at once, as our  _ first _ dates together.”

 

Alya eyed the diagram. “This is… convoluted. Are you sure dates are additive like this?”

 

Adrien shrugged. “Works for me.”

 

“Transitive property of dates, I guess,” said Marinette. “It’s an explanation, at least.”

 

“Yeah, let’s let this metaphor ride. Point  _ is _ . We jumped into the deep end, and we need practice. So.” He turned to Adrien. “Want to practice with me?”

 

* * *

 

Here’s what they came up with.

 

The idea was, go on a date with your best friend. And make it a  _ date- _ date, not just hanging out with your friend. Simple enough.

  
The problem was, it was the end of the year, and things were getting busy. After their coffee fiasco--which had thankfully not made it to the lycee rumor mill--it turned out that schedules were full. 

 

“I guess our class’s carrying capacity of orgies is supposed to be less than one per week,” said Alya, as she leaned over her desk to schedule with the other three corners of her little love square. “Bummer.”

 

“Ah ah ah,” said Marinette. “ _ Orgies _ implies everyone doing things at the same time, with everyone else.  _ We _ were having discreet two-to-four-person… activities.”

 

“An orgy by any other name would get you as sticky,” said Nino. “I mean, if it looks like an orgy and quacks like an orgy…”

 

“You remember different things than I do, then…” replied Adrien, bumping Nino with his shoulder. 

 

“Oh right you were in the shower during the duck thing.”

 

“Are we talking about orgies?”

 

“Yes, Kim, but  _ privately _ ,” said Alix. “Don’t butt in, dumbass. Be cool. Aaaaaaand… round twelve.”

 

“Aw man,” he said, but went back to thumb-wrestling Max. Apparently, running doesn’t work out your thumbs, but video games do, and Max had just completed the eleventh of an eleven-win streak.

 

“And  _ you _ ,” said Alya. “Stop making up orgy facts.”

 

“Yeah, I like… barely believe it as is,” said Marinette. Adrien nodded. 

 

“Well, believe it, babe. You did great.”

 

“I think you’re taking all this really well, Adrien! All in stride, you know, bro? It wasn’t so long ago you never went to any parties at all, and now you’re like, an expert.”

 

“I’m proud of you too!” said Marinette.

 

“Oh babe, come on,” said Alya, rolling her eyes. “Just three weeks ago you’d never given any handjobs in any showers, and  _ now _ look at you. You were just as bad as him.” Marinette, of course, blushed.

 

Nino continued. “But yeah! Totally not awkward after our mouths went to fun and exciting places.”

 

Marinette flailed. “Nino! Aaa! Come on! There’s like, people around!” She was working herself up to a Defcon 3 blush, and was hovering at about a 4. 

 

“You dingus,” said Alya, as Adrien slapped him on the hat with a folder. “Come on now.”

 

“But on the topic of orgies,” said Max, now on win fourteen. “I’m still interested in seeing if in the class we can pull off 100% completion. Just a pipe dream, maybe.”

 

Marinette snorted. “Really, Max?  _ Everyone _ in class?”

 

“Wait, what’s he talking about?” asked Alya. “There was plenty of completion. Some people, a couple times, in fact,” she said as she winked suggestively at Adrien. “Wink.”

 

Marinette shook her head, and propped her feet up on Alya’s legs. “What Max means, I believe, is video game logic. 100% completion. All the quests, all the sidequests, all the achievements. And while I can appreciate that on  _ one _ level, I believe that I, as well as  _ some people I know _ \--” She gave a pointed glance at Chloe’s empty bench. “--might object to being reduced to an  _ objective _ .” 

 

“Some people are into it,” said Max. 

 

“Yeah...” said Adrien, keeping a whole lot to himself in that moment, eyeing Chloe’s desk and remembering their last conversation. “You… really never know.”

 

Max smiled at him, then turned back to Marinette, handily beating Kim again. “See? You never know! And that’s fifteen.”

 

“Best nine out of seventeen!”

 

“But come on, Max, like, good luck and everything but, well…” Marinette gave a meaningful look at Chloe’s seat, currently empty and even lacking a Sabrina. “One  _ hundred _ percent?”

 

“Gotta catch ‘em all.”

 

“We aren’t Pokemon!” 

 

“More’s the pity,” said Nathanael, under his breath.

 

“But yeah dude, like, don’t be worried about the  _ high _ score, you should be pumped that you got  _ to _ score.  _ Nineties slang _ .” Nino beamed as everyone pelted him with pencils and bits of lint for his terrible joke. 

 

“I believe in you, Max!” 

 

“Thank you, Rose. See?  _ Rose _ believes in me.”

 

And you can’t really argue with that. 

 

* * *

 

“You know how in cartoons, sometimes when they show someone, they’re surrounded by sparkles and flowers and bubbles and stuff? That’s what happens when I look at Ladybug.”

 

Adrien placed his finger in the science textbook, marking his place, and looked up at Chloe. Since she’d started actually studying, she’d invited him to her place to be a good study-buddy influence. And now she’d very casually described the  _ exact same thing _ he saw whenever he looked at Ladybug. She hadn’t even paused in her writing.

 

Huh.

 

“Yeah, definitely, Chloe. That’s from anime.”

 

“I’m sure I have no idea what that is.” She continued, 

 

Adrien’s silently swept his eyes over to her bookshelf, with its row upon row of Sailor Moon DVDs and manga. 

 

* * *

 

“So we agree that it would be… inappropriate to flirt with someone we’re saving, right?”

 

Chat Noir nodded. “Yeah, it probably would be. Kind of a messed up power dynamic. I mean, a good flirt should take place without an imbalance.”

 

“And no one is really in a privileged position when they’re being swung out of the way of an akuma by yo-yo,” said Ladybug, nodding, and finishing her cappuccino. She flung her empty cup off Notre Dame into a conveniently-located dustbin. “Kobe,” she said.

 

“Nice,” said Chat Noir. “But I can do the one by the park.”

 

“Betcha can’t.”

 

“Loser has to buy the next round?”

 

“You’re on.”

 

Chat Noir stood, steadied himself, and squinted at the far-off trash can. He flipped up the screen on his baton, zoomed in, gauged the direction of the wind. The last drips of coffee went into his mouth, he wound up like he was playing some absurd American stick-and-ball sport, and arced his coffee up towards the can.

 

It tumbled through the air, catching a stray gust here and there--as Chat gave an anime protagonist smile--and at last bonked hollowly on the rim of the trash can.

 

...Where it stayed.

 

“WHAT,” said Chat. “That still counts.”

 

“It didn’t go  _ in _ ,  _ minou _ . It doesn’t count. I’ll take something loaded with foam and sugar, please.”

 

“Oh come on, it is  _ right there _ ,” he said, gesturing. “I hit the can! That counts!”

 

Ladybug shook her head and waggled her tootsies off of the cathedral. It had been a quiet few days, which gave them a nice chunk of time to be lazy winter superheroes. But that quietness hadn’t made her give up the  _ steel edge of justice _ that prevented her from letting Chat Noir cheat at coffee-cup-throwing bets. She made a mock-frown.

 

“Poor, poor kitty. So trod upon by the world. So mistreated. So--” Ladybug leaned forward and squinted.

 

An errant gust of wind blew the coffee cup gently into the trash can.

 

“...So  _ vindicated _ ,” said Chat, danging a little bit, his tail whipping aroud in a pattern of exclamatino marks. “I’ll take a double espresso, my lady. Two sugars.”   
  


Ladybug’s steel edge of justice wouldn’t let her renege on a bet, so she found herself swinging back up to the roof of the cathedral with one double espresso, two sugars, and one soothing, shame-reducing cappuccino. She allowed herself a little grumble, though.

 

But it was nice and chilly, and she had a warm beverage, and Chat Noir’s glee was a little bit infectious, so she didn’t grumble too much. She leaned back against the roof of Notre Dame, and let the world turn around her for a moment. 

 

“Hey, it’s getting to be that season, right? When do you want your Christmas present?” asked Chat Noir.

 

“Aw Chat! So sweet of you.” She pursed her lips and considered. It had already become December, somehow. “How about on Christmas day, after the parade? We can do a patrol and presents.”

 

“An excellent plan, my little bugling. I’ve already got something picked out.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well I know exactly what I’m getting you, too, kitty.”

 

“It’s a date, then.”

 

Ladybug laughed. At least this was  _ one _ date she could mark on her calendar.

 

* * *

 

The scheduling fiasco continued.

 

Painful as it was, they agreed to pause most of their date-stuff until they could find time for everyone to have one-on-one dates with each other. Best-friends-date-but-now-romantic-type-date was first, followed by switching it up amongst the couples: Nino and Marniette, and Alya and Adrien. Then potentially three-person dates, but it seemed like a shame to exclude one person of the four, just to put a checkmark by it. So they focused on first things first: One-on-one dates. Marinette and Alya, Adrien and Nino. The whole friends-to-lovers vibe.

 

It was well into December before their school workload (and such) lightened up enough for them to schedule anything, datewise or not. Akumas had been mercifully absent--maybe the chilly weather, after all. Or the humiliating defeat of the Grande Boner. Either way. 

 

By the time they’d figured out a potential schedule, Adrien paused, furrowed his brow, and got a slightly faraway look in his eye.

 

“What is it, Adrien?” asked Marinette.

 

“Hey remember when evil Santa started dabbing?”

 

And  _ that’s  _ when it all came to a head. It was just about Christmastime. And with that in mind, they decided that a  _ friend _ get-together definitely wouldn’t throw their date plan off at all. The spirit of fellowship, and all that. They committed themselves to moderate use of Pere Noel memes, exchanging sensible gifts, and only making out a  _ little _ . They had  _ actual _ dates coming up. For  _ real _ dates.  _ This  _ would be strictly platonic. At least 80% strictly platonic.

 

… They decided to have their get-together far away from any bedrooms. Just in case. It was  _ important _ to stick by your previously-set limits and decisions, no matter how much you wanted to make out with up to three people. They borrowed Tom and Sabine’s bakery for their purpose, as it was the only place of theirs where none of them had accidentally seen any of the others naked. 

 

… So far.

 

It was Christmas Eve, and they’d gone all out. Nino had brought his excellent potatoes, Alya had mixed up some eggnog (or as they say in French,  _ nog d'oeuf _ ), Adrien had provided some wine (very French), and Marinette had baked a variety of gingerbreads. It was festive as  _ fuck _ .

 

No one could have wished for something more lovely. Even without their romantic entanglements at the forefront of their minds, the four of them were no-shitting-around friends, and the long night of celebration drilled the truth of that into their bones. They were all slightly tipsy, and alternating between giggling at the table and flirting by text message, when the Notre Dame bells tolled twelve times and they caught sight of a definitely-not-akumatized Pere Noel zipping around Paris. 

 

“Huh, how did we never notice him before that one Christmas?” asked Nino. 

 

“Yeah I thought he was kind of imaginary,” said Marinette. “I wonder if he’s really sneaking into people’s houses?”

 

“Maybe he’s got the reindeer miraculous or something,” said Alya. 

 

“Sounds about right,” said Marinette, sharing potatoes and a cute little kiss with Nino. Adrien clinked his ‘nog glass to hers. 

 

“To the miraculous St. Nick,” he said, and they drank. Except everyone was tired of eggnog, because even Alya’s eggnog isn’t very good, so they more sipped, and switched to wine.

 

“Hey, you know what that means, dudes!” said Nino. “It’s officially the ol’ X-mas. Let’s do presents!” He hefted three presents onto the table, two large, and one small. “Sound good?”

 

Of course it did. 

 

They decided to go by giver, to space things out. Nino went first, passing the smaller present to Alya, who opened it with an eager shine to her eyes. She peeped Nino out of the side of them. 

 

“I thought you were going to…” she started, before Nino cleared his throat.

 

“That’s, uh, more of a one-on-one kind of present, babe. I’ll, like… yeah that too. But like, open it!” He was blushing, and his response had raised more questions than it answered, but Alya seemed satisfied. 

 

Inside was a shining, multifaceted stovetop espresso press, one of the nice Italian ones. He’d packed some beans along with it, and the room filled up with a savory coffee aroma as soon as Alya opened the box. Her eyes lit up, and she grinned at Nino, with his hand on the back of her neck, blushing at about a 0.1 Marinette.

 

“I figured since you drink coffee like it’s an Olympic sport you plan on winning, you might want to give it a try. Plus, now you can invite me back to your place for a  _ coffee _ , wink.” He winked.

 

Marinette was peering over the edge of the table at Alya. Alya noticed.

 

“Nuh uh,” she said.

 

“But just a  _ little _ ,” said Marinette.

 

“You must  _ earn  _ access to my fancy coffee tools, girl. I’m sure you’ll find  _ some _ way to win me over…”

 

“If I  _ must _ ,” said Marinette, smirking as she faux-rolled her eyes, and squeezed Alya’s leg. 

 

“Adorable.” Nino passed one of his larger presents to Adrien. “Here you go, bro! Enjoy.”

 

Adrien ripped into the wrapping paper with the glee of a boy who’d received a whole lot of pens as presents in his life. He was rewarded with a lustrous, velvety, dark blue cloth, embroidered with stars and moons. 

 

He removed it fully from the wrapping, and he noticed more. No towel, not a blanket, this could only be…

 

“A wizard robe!?” Adrien couldn’t hide the excitement in his voice.

 

“What do you get the boy who’s got everything, right? You get him a bitchin’ wizard robe.”

 

Adrien had already put it on. “I am never taking this off. I’m wearing this forever.” He leaned over to give Nino a kiss. “Thank you, Nino!”

 

Marinette high fived Nino. 

 

“Okay, dude, you’re last! Here you go, I got a feeling you’ll like this one.” Nino pushed the last, biggest present over to Marinette, and she was a little surprised at how light it was. She dug in, stripping the paper off of one end to reveal…

 

Adrien’s face.

 

“Buh?” she asked, and lovingly placed a hand on the thoroughly beautiful face before her. It was cloth, but very soft. A body pillow.

 

“Dude,” said Adrien. “Did you get her a dakimakura? Of me?”

 

“I know, I know, I’m the best at presents,” said Nino. “You may bow.”

 

Alya, of course, was too busy rolling on the floor, helpless with laughter, to be of any assistance. Marinette, of course, blushed.

 

“Adrien, protect me,” said Marinette, burying her face in the pillow.

 

“Okay, I’m here to--”

 

“Oh, I meant this Adrien,” she said, directly into the pillow. The reverse side of the pillow, which was also an Adrien, seemed to smirk up at him. 

 

_ Shown up by a body pillow. I am shamed. _ He tucked himself into his robe more thoroughly, only to spot Marinette giggling at him over the top of the pillow. She leaned over to plop herself into the plushness of his robe. 

 

“Don’t worry, it’s just double the Adrien.” She smiled and stroked one of the moons of his robe. “I am in love with this robe, too. Can I try it on sometime?”   
  
“Dare you don the Archmage’s Vestment?”

 

From the floor, Alya’s helpless giggles were interrupted by her cry of “NERD.” She then resumed, and Marinette went next for the gift-giving.

 

Nino unwrapped his, and immediately replaced his cap with Marinette’s handmade, winter-weight, extra-warm, just-as-red-as-the-original hat. She’d managed to stitch on a bill and ribbing to give it the same appearance of his trademark chapeau, while being anywhere near appropriate to wear on his constant midnight potato-eating excursions in the snow. 

 

_ And _ it had fold-downable earflaps.

 

“Marinette. Dude. This is perfect. This is  _ perfect _ ! How did you even do this?”

 

“Through the magic of millinery, Nino. Through the magic of millinery.”

 

Next, Alya opened her Marinette-gift. Inside, crafted with care, and with a Certificate of Authenticity, somehow, was the world’s first and only official Ladyblog messenger bag. 

 

Alya immediately dumped everything out of her current messenger bag and flung it aside with a quiet “yeet.” “You’re dead to me, old bag,” said Alya, to the bag. “I love Marinette’s bag now. And also Marinette,” she added, around a lipfull of Marinette’s lips.

 

Nino high fived Marinette. “Nice.”

 

“Adrien, before you open your present,” said Marinette, handing it to him, but not making eye contact. “Just know that it’s… maybe a little embarrassing. Embarrassingly earnest.”

 

“That sounds fine!” he said, and dug into the present like he was getting the third most worthwhile gift of his life, which was probably true. 

 

(Not counting the miraculous, of course. Plagg was nestled in his pocket, snoring around a mouthful of cheese, as always.)

 

Inside the wrapping paper was a relic of a bygone era. It was a photo album, filled with pictures of the classmates. And next to each, a sheet of paper, with actual handwriting on it. He scanned the first one, from Juleka.

 

“Are these… thank-you notes?”

 

Marinette blushed, and squeezed her new pillow. “When I got that thank-you note you wrote after your party, it was just so sweet that I couldn’t handle it. And I talked to Rose and Juleka and they really appreciated the ones you sent to them--”

 

“Same here, dude,” said Nino. “Me and Alya loved them.”

 

“And so I figured, since you haven’t been able to come to too many parties, you’d like to have a nice little book with everyone being sweet to you. I asked everyone who was there. I even asked Chloe and Sabrina, just in general and they were actually really helpful? But yeah… embarrassingly earnest, like I said.” Marinette couldn’t quite stop her explanation once she’d started it, so she shuffled her feet, and scooted closer to Adrien. “Is that okay?”

 

In reply, Adrien closed his eyes and drew her in for a kiss. And if no one noticed that he was a little verklempt, a little dewy around the eyes, well, no problem.

 

Adrien had to take a little break to compose himself, so Alya went next. Her first gift went to Nino, and his eyes went wide and sparkly the moment he opened it.

 

“Will this fit both of us?”

 

“You know it will, babe,” she said, as Nino tried on his brand new Daft Punk robot mask. Alya planted a kiss on his readout. 

 

“Oh man, this feels so right! It’s so good!” As he spoke, little digital exclamation points danced across the mask’s faceplate.

 

“And Marinette, this is for you,” said Alya, passing it over. “But I think we’ll all appreciate it, on some level.”

 

Marinette opened the little present to find… 

 

Makeup?

 

“Specifically, it’s an extremely nice blush. It made me think of you,” said Alya, between giggles.

 

And so of course, Marinette blushed, and Alya kissed her right on the blushiest cheek.

 

Adrien’s gift was last, and it had a suspicious, floppy familiarity to it. As he started to open it, Alya pinched Nino excitedly. “ _ Now _ you’re going to see why I was laughing so hard, boy.”

 

The wrapping paper parted to reveal… 

 

Ladybug?

 

“Babe you got  _ Adrien _ a  _ Ladybug _ body pillow? Oh man. Elite.”

 

“I am so happy right now,” said Adrien. “I love my friends and all of you so much.”

 

And Marinette sat, and had some  _ lovely _ ideas.

 

Adrien gave out his gifts last, and damn, but that was a hard act to follow.

 

He started with Alya, who opened her present while still shaking with echoes of laughter. She produced, from it, a substantial, old-timey microphone, with a cord trailing from it. 

 

“Oh yeah. Oh yes. This feels right. This feels good,” said Alya. “Does this plus into a phone?”

 

“Yeah! It’s got that midcentury reportage thing going on! I thought you’d like it!”

 

“Adrien, my boy, I  _ love  _ it. I’m going to pick up some  _ sweet _ midrange on my next Ladyblog interview and aggressively poke at Officer Roger’s face.”

 

“Nice,” whispered Marinette.

 

“This just in: Adrien Agreste is so sweet,” said Alya, tugging him closer by his scarf to give him a kiss. “More at 11.”

 

“And Marinette, this is for you,” said Adrien, when he was done blushing, as he pushed a hefty box over to her. “It’s… kind of a project, maybe. I’m sorry about that… but I thought you’d like it.”

 

Marinette opened the box, and stared at hundreds and hundreds of pages of fancy people in fancy clothes, all with the Agreste logo. 

 

It was a treasure trove of forgotten, vintage, or never-produced, only-imagined designs. And it was  _ glorious _ . 

 

“Adrien. Oh. Oh my heck. This is  _ the best _ . I am going to do  _ things _ to your  _ body _ .”

 

Alya high fived her. Adrien blushed, smiled, said “Please do,” and turned to Nino.

 

“Okay Nino, you can’t let your parents know that I bought you this. Or they will murder me.”

 

“Definitely don’t let that happen,” said Marinette.

 

“Dude what is it?” asked Nino. 

 

He unwrapped a boxy device with two loops on it. It looked sciency, somewhat, but otherwise…

 

“Uh… man, usually seeing something helps me understand what it is, and yet here I am, adrift.”

 

Adrien reached over to Nino and pressed a button on the box. “Okay wiggle your hands.”

 

Nino looked incredulous, but did so, holding his hands over the--

 

WEEEEEOOOOOWOWWOWWWWOOOEEEIIIIIIWWWOOOOOOWWEEEIIIWWWOOOOO

 

“Fuck, aagh!” said everyone, all at once.

 

The shrill noise stopped once Nino’s hands left the air above the loops. Everyone took a moment to enjoy the blessed calm.

 

“So yeah don’t tell your parents I got you a theremin.”

 

* * *

 

They ended the night curled up in Marinette’s living room, taking up a tangled blanket-pile’s worth of space on a single couch, lightly snoring into each others’ hair. Everyone had gotten a chance to snuggle up in Adrien’s wizard robe, and it was very good.

 

They all slept together, and they had previously agreed to not mess around, at least not too much. It was Adrien’s idea, initially, and they all agreed. They had to make sure it wasn’t just  _ all _ about sex. They had to make sure it still felt right, whatever they did. And it did. So they all gave their word to keep things PG, or as they say in France,  _ Le Centre national du cinéma et de l'image animée évaluation: Touts Publics _ . 

 

And everyone was the  _ exact same _ amount of disappointed that they didn’t wind up boning down. And that was the most important thing. They were all on the same page. And so they looked forward to the for  _ real _ dates they were going to have, and watched the snow fall, amd dreamed sweet, cozy little dreams about holding hands.

 

And over the sleeping city of Paris, Santa Claus dabbed.

 

* * *

 

And far away, past the Alps and further south, a single black butterfly, tangled with spaghetti, made its slow way northwest to France.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, handholding is pretty tough, alright?
> 
> EDIT: A few folks corrected my grammar. Eggnog, in French, would be "nog d'oeuf," not "nog de oeuf." Or, to be actually accurate, something totally different, lait de poule. But yeah I'll be damned if my godawful garbage French is grammatically incorrect. It is wrong *differently*.
> 
> Oh also for future generations: This was submitted in late July. Hence, Xmas in July!


	35. In Which Certain Things Are Accentuated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette and Alya attempt to beat a romantic record set by Rose and Juleka, while Nino tries to broaden his athletic horizons with Adrien's assistance. But oh no! Something happens!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2 year anniversary, Miraculous Ladybug!
> 
> If there's something that doesn't make sense in this chapter, try saying it out loud. Trust me on this one.

_ And over the sleeping city of Paris, Santa Claus dabbed. _

 

_ And far away, past the Alps and further south, a single black butterfly, tangled with spaghetti, made its slow way northwest to France. _

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Marinette! We’re doing so good!”

 

Alya dashed up the Metro steps, pulling a giggling Marinette behind her. She stumbled a little, but picked herself up before her over-eager date could fully topple her. Still, she caromed off of a bollard that Alya had avoided more adeptly than Marinette could.  

 

“I don’t know why we’re in such a rush, Alya! We already took so many pictures!”

 

She felt Alya squeeze her hand and tug her along, turning back to smile at her. “We are  _ so close _ to beating the record, babe! I  _ knew _ starting with the lesser-known tourist traps was a good idea.”

 

“Wait, we are? Beating  _ Rose and Juleka’s _ record? No way!”

 

Alya held up her phone, displaying a checklist. Boxes were checked off to halfway down the list, and a timer at the bottom read “1:04:16” and climbing. Marinette bit her lower lip and smiled around it. They  _ were _ making excellent time.

 

For months, a running challenge had been circulating through the youths of Lycee Francois-Dupont. A record had been established--and dominated--by the originators of one specific feat: Rose and Juleka. The challenge went like this: How many tourist attractions can you and your date take a selfie at, within two hours?

 

The biggest hurdle was in plotting a course, of course, but a secondary issue was managing the tourists. The rules were clear: you had to take a picture of the two of you kissing, with the tourist trap prominent in the background. 

 

There were about forty-two billion touristy things in Paris, and Rose stood proud with Juleka, holding the best score: sixty-three. No one knew how they’d done it. 

 

And yet here were Marinette and Alya, with forty nine at just over one hour. They could hit some of the big names and  _ easily _ beat the record--they’d left the biggest and fanciest and closest-together for the end. 

 

“Alya! We’re doing so good! Let’s go!” 

 

They raced on, trying to run at the same time as kiss, with limited (but adorable) success, bonking and bashing each other’s lips together as they giggled and sprinted to the next landmark.

 

* * *

 

“Okay I’m starting to rethink this.”

 

“You’ll be fine, Nino! I put the mats down and everything, and I’m here to catch you!”

 

Nino wasn’t certain that helped. Sure, Adrien could probably lift him, but  _ catching _ him, from this height? How high up was he? A hundred miles? Two?

 

“Rock climbing seemed a lot safer from the ground! There’s a whole lot of nothing under me, man!”

 

Nino clung. He didn’t think of himself as particularly brave, but he was having some  _ serious _ doubts about his courage at the moment. And so he clung, pressing as much of himself up against the wall, and handholds, as he could, and trying to ignore the fact that there just wasn’t really anything under him. Well, except Adrien.

 

Getting Adrien to teach him rock climbing seemed like  _ such _ a good idea at the time. 

 

_ Great idea _ , he had thought.  _ Get sweaty and physical with Adrien,  _ he had thought.  _ Right in his own room _ , he had thought.  _ “Oh boy that was great can I just borrow your shower,”  _ he had thought he might say.  _ “You could… join me, if you wanted,” _ he had thought he might add.

 

But now his hands were sweaty, his arms were burningly sore, and he wasn’t even sure he could feel his feet. And he was so high  _ up _ . How could Adrien and Alix manage to scamper up this son-of-a-bitch so nimbly?

 

“You’re doing great, Nino!”

 

“I think I’m afraid of heights now!”

 

“Just breathe!”

 

So Nino took a moment to breathe, whispering Daft Punk lyrics to himself, and hauled himself up the wall. One handhold at a time. Simple. Easy. Just go up.

 

Cuz hey, it sure beat trying to learn how to go  _ down _ . 

 

* * *

 

“Um,  _ excuse me _ ,” said Helen, speaking English, which was the only language she thought anyone should ever speak. “I’m going to need to speak to your manager.”

 

“I haven’t seen one thing on your menu I’d eat,” said Harold, as he adjusted his starred-and-striped hat. “I figured you’d at least have French fries.”

 

“In Paris we usually just call them ‘fries, monsieur.” Their waiter, Luc, already emotionally battered from his mere three minutes of exposure to American Baby Boomers, was reaching the end of his ability to be polite in English. Three minutes was a new record for the time it took for a tourist to demand to see the manager. “But I would be happy to fetch our manager if you have any--”

 

“And what’s with all the French words on the menu? We asked for the  _ English _ menu.  _ ENG-LISH _ ,” said Harold. Luc frantically gestured for his maitre d’ to arrive. “

 

“I apologize monsier, I will--”

 

“What on earth is a sowflee?” asked Helen. “That’s  _ definitely _ French.”

 

“Madame, I believe that ‘ _ souffle _ ’ is an English word that comes  _ from _ French--”

 

“And see here,” said Harold. “This says beef, but then it’s a bunch of French stuff!” Harold indicated the beef bourguignon with one particularly American finger. “Borgwignon. What even is that?!”

 

Luc sweated. Behind his back, he tried to gesture to his manager, with increasing urgency, but Jeanne wasn’t arriving as instantaneously as he had hoped. The speed of light might not have been fast enough, either.

 

“Is the rag out made with real rags?”

 

Luc elected to deflect the question. “Madame, this here is our lobster bisque. It is quite excellent, and I’m sure we would be happy to--”

 

“WHO ARE YOU CALLING A BISQUE,” Helen began to yell as Luc’s maitre’d finally arrived to save his entire ass.

 

“This is my maitre d’, Jeanne,” said Luc. “She will be able to--”

 

“Mayter dee? What the hell’s that? I said manager!”

 

* * *

 

A few blocks away, Marinette pressed Alya up against a wall by the Luxor obelisk and kissed her as Alya snapped a selfie. They were breathing hard, for two reasons, but the picture turned out as good as the kiss did. Fifty landmarks, just fourteen more to go, to beat the record.

 

* * *

 

A few more blocks away, Nino considered throwing in the towel, when Adrien materialized next to him, somehow.

 

“Hey, you’re doing great!” he said, clearly not quaking in fear, hanging one-handed off of the rock climbing wall. “You can totally do it!”

 

“BRO YOU SAID YOU’D CATCH ME,” said Nino, as Adrien grinned and scampered-- _ scampered! _ \--back down to ground level, three thousand feet below, more or less.

 

* * *

 

“I didn’t order this, give me my money back.”

 

“I assure you our chef can correct the issue, if I could just--” Jeanne was immediately interrupted.

 

“The name of this sauce has  _ crap _ in it! I’m not eating any  _ crap _ !” said Harold, at an increasing volume. Helen seemed to concur.

 

“NO. No. This is  _ un _ acceptable. Pulling some sort of switcheroo on us. I bet you think you’re so clever with your  _ accent _ and your  _ healthcare _ but I’ll be  _ damned _ if Harold and I are going to sit idly by as you  _ insult _ everything about  _ America _ in front of us!”

 

“Madame, I didn’t mean to--”

 

“And I turn around to my rag out--”

 

_ Ragout _ , Jeanne pronounced in her head, correctly.

 

“--And there’s just a big  _ moth _ in it, with  _ spaghetti _ all over it.” 

 

...Moth?

 

Jeanne and Luc both looked down, as one, in time to see a black butterfly meld into Helen’s soup bowl, and see the telltale glowing purple outline form in front of both tourists’ faces.

 

With a sigh, Jeanne prepared to do her primary duty as a maitre d’. As black and purple akuma fog engulfed Mr. and Mrs. Freedom Eagle Liberty America, she walked over to the bar, pressed the bright red akuma alert button, and wiped off the whiteboard. With a dry-erase marker, she replaced the seventeen with a zero, under the legend “Days Since Last Akumatization.”

 

* * *

 

“Switcheroux… they mixed up your soup order, and now you can mix  _ them _ up!”

 

“Yes, Hawk Moth!”

 

“...You know, in France they usually call me Papillon.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay, once we hit the Louvre we’ll be a shoe-in for best time and--”

 

Marinette stopped speaking, as she suddenly had a mouthful of Alya hair. Her date had stopped right in front of her. 

 

“Peh. Ptoo. Pff,” she sputtered. “What's wrong, Alya?”

 

Alya stood, arms at first limp at her sides, then increasingly akimbo, head flicking back and forth as she surveyed the surroundings. Street sign. Subway stop. Landmark. And back again. 

 

“What is it?”

 

“Marinette do you notice anything wrong with the Louvre?”

 

Marinette propped her chin on Alya’s shoulder and let her girlfriend guide her gaze. The street was right (Rue de Rivoli), the metro stop was right (Palais Royal – Musée du Louvre), and the--

 

Wait a minute. 

 

“Did we… are we at the Eiffel Tower?” she asked.

 

“We… are…” said Alya.

 

“But this is where the Louvre should be.”

 

“It… should…” 

 

“... Was our last picture actually at the Arc de Triomphe?”   
  


“Probably… definitely not,” said Alya, holding her phone to her shoulder so Marinette could see it.

 

It was a good picture. The two of them curled in on each other in a hug, sharing a (for them, and for their recent excursions) reasonably chaste kiss, Alya’s arm extended towards the edge, holding the phone to take the picture. Very sweet, clearly a part of the series of dozens of landmark smooches of various levels of impassionedment that they’d performed to beat Rose’s Romance Record. The filter text they’d added over it read “ _ Just being maximum gal pals at Paris’ most yonic monument, the Arc de Triomphe!” _

 

And behind them, clear as consomme, was Notre Dame. 

 

Marinette’s fragile romantic heart sank. 

 

“Alya… our pictures… they’re switched around, aren’t they?”

 

“You know it, girl.”

 

“This is definitely an akuma, right.”

 

“It is definitely an akuma, Marinette.”

 

“...So I guess this date is going to be postponed…”

 

“See, I love you because you’re such a good guesser,” said Alya, patting herself down for her external mic and phone charger. “Babe, you know I wouldn’t cancel for--”

 

“No! Oh gosh! Don’t worry! I know how important the Ladyblog is to you! And to Paris!” said Marinette, doing an excellent job of being both completely honest and decidedly ulterior. “Go investigate! I’m going to, uh… hide… you know me! Scared of akumas, yep!” she said, as ingenuously as possible. “Boy, sure wouldn’t want to be caught up in one of those attacks, no siree. You’re so brave!”

 

“Kiss for good luck?” asked Alya, pulling Marinette closer by a belt loop. 

 

Marinette smiled, and when Alya finally managed to drag herself away, they were both a little bit more breathless than before. 

 

As soon as Alya rounded the corner--headed to the former residence of the Eiffel Tower, and current residence of the Louvre, probably--Marinette ducked behind one of Paris’ conveniently located and completely visually secure trees. Tikki popped out of her purse.

 

“Sounds like a bad one, Marinette!”

 

“Do you think so? I mean, they just switched the locations of landmarks.”

 

“... Okay good point, but I’m trying to get you pumped up!”

 

_ Oh, Alya left my blood pumping already, Tikki _ , thought Marinette--

 

“Ooh la  _ la _ , Marinette! But save it for when Paris isn’t being attacked!”

 

\--and which it turns out she’d also said out loud. Merde.  _ I need to get better at that whole not talking thing… _

 

“Ah ha ha! Whoops! Ha ha! Hoo hoo haa! Heyyyyy, nothing! Nope! Tikki, spots on!”

 

* * *

 

Ever since the advent of Hawk Moth (or as they say in France, Papillon), the citizens of Paris had become intimately familiar with the experience of free fall. Normally, as a consequence of being flung into the air by this akuma or the other. Normally, one could count on being rescued at the last moment by Ladybug or Chat Noir.

 

Nino found himself in the rare, vertiginous space that exists in the midst of a free fall which was  _ not _ caused by an akuma. When Adrien caught him, however, it did bear something of a resemblance to the more miraculous experience. 

 

Of course, any specious connection he could have imagined between those two types of Nino-catching was blasted out of his mind by the fact that he was very suddenly very close to a very pretty boy.  _ And _ his lips were just  _ baaaarely _ out of reach.

 

“Um… hey,” he said, mentally kicking himself. “You caught me, dude.”

 

It might just have been Nino’s imagination, but he thought he saw Adrien slowly getting--no yeah, he was definitely getting more and more red. 

 

“You could almost say you’re…” said Adrien, pulling his gaze away just to flick it back up to Nino’s. “... quite the catch.”

 

“Dammit, you nerd,” said Nino. He wrapped a hand around the back of Adrien’s neck--the exact spot a bashful Adrien would normally be rubbing--and pulled him down and in, closer, feeling the feather-light touch of lips. And then the considerably  _ firmer _ touch of lips as Adrien held him up into a better kissing-position. 

 

He hung there, dangling more-or-less haplessly from Adrien, simply experiencing a kiss and the insistent narrative beat of his own pulse picking up the pace. At last--but only for a moment--he pulled away.

 

“Dude how did you get so strong,” he said, and before Adrien got out more than about a “buh,” he had another handful of blonde hair and lipful of model. 

 

It was  _ unreal _ how good Adrien was at kissing, for being a relative newcomer to makeouts. Injustice, truly. But at the very least, it gave Nino the opportunity to enjoy being held off the ground and made-out-with for the first time, and he discovered that he was a  _ big fan _ , and then Adrien’s hand squeezed his butt a little and he felt a little extra  _ Frenchness _ in their kiss, and life was  _ good _ . 

 

...and they were suddenly on the Champs-Elysees, instead.

 

…

 

It took them a moment to notice.

 

Eventually, this happened:

 

“DAMMIT,” said Nino and Adrien, at the same time.  _ Of course _ an akuma would interrupt their tender moment. What else could it be? They were having  _ Marinette _ -level luck. Which was some real  _ merde du taureau _ , so to speak.

 

They took a moment to scowl at their surroundings, and the fact that they weren’t in Adrien’s cushy room anymore. Then they looked down.

 

“Oh, right,” said Nino. “I guess…”

 

“Yeah… I should probably put you down…”

 

So he did, and it sucked.

 

“There’s like, absolutely an akuma, right?” Nino shaded his eyes (his hat currently being sported fresh to make out better) and peeped their zone. Yep, it was definitely the Champs-Elysees. And still somehow on Adrien’s street. He could see the park and the lycee just down the block.    
  


“Oh no doubt, my man.” Adrien didn’t know what to do with his hands now that he wasn’t cradling any boyfriends at all.

 

Nino sighed. “I hate to cut it short, Adrien, but me and Alya kind of have this thing where whenever there’s an akuma attack we meet up so that she can make me hold the camera and I can talk her out of extremely risky reporting ideas.”

 

“Yeah… I, uh… should probably take a shower,” said Adrien. “A cold one,” he said, under his breath.

 

“Model stuff, huh? I dig it. Do your model thing, man. I guess your house is close? Maybe?”

 

“I guess I’ll find out?”

 

“Hey,” said Nino, as he wrapped his fingers around Adrien’s. “We’ll finish up this date later, okay man?”

 

Adrien couldn’t help the smile his lips formed like a mirror to those words. “Definitely.”

 

Nino ran off to where the most perplexed tourist noises were coming from, and Adrien retired to the most secure and hidden location in Paris: the closest Metro stop.

 

“I guess I  _ am _ glad that you kept me in your pocket while you hefted and made out with your boyfriend,” said Plagg, levitating in front of Adrien’s tragically kiss-free lips. He was (unconsciously?) matching the arms-akimbo-face-asmirk pose that Adrien made as soon as the little kwami flitted out of his shirt.

 

“You better be. That was definitely admirable foresight,” said Adrien. He winked. “Wink.”

 

“Why… why did you even wink at me right then? That wasn’t even an innuen--” But Adrien interrupted him. He had an akuma with  _ extremely poor timing _ to deal with.

 

“Nothing don’t worry about it! Plagg, claws out!”

 

* * *

 

“PUBLIC TRANSIT,” shouted the akuma, Switcheroux. “THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE! THE ONLY KIND OF CAR YOU NEED IS A TRUCK!”

 

With a flick of its’ soup bowl, Switcheroux splashed a metro station and a utility truck with thick, magical soup. In a flash of bouillabase, the street was filled with train cars, and from the sound of it, the subway was filled with street vehicles. 

 

To be honest, it was more on-theme than menacing.

 

A splashy line of coq-au-vin and other souply debris decorated paris from a certain fine-dining establishment, to the Palais Royale. Wherever the soup touched, monuments swapped. The Louvre was where the Eiffel Tower was. Notre Dame was there, instead of the Arc de Triomphe. Versailles was in the Jardin des Tuileries. The Chapelle Expiatoire was where the catacombs were, somehow. 

 

It was, in other words, a series of switcheroos. And clearly, if ineffectively, Papillon was behind it. 

 

Ladybug and Chat Noir observed the disruptive, but ultimately not particularly dangerous akuma. It didn’t look too bad. A hulking, four-armed figure in an American flag apron, with a seemingly never-ending supply of soup in its bowl. It was yelling culturally demeaning stuff in English.

 

“Figure the bowl is the akumatized item?” asked Ladybug.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think an akuma that’s definitely made out of at least one American would bring an apron on vacation. Gotta be the soup.”

 

“This akuma…” Ladybug shook her head. “Let’s get this over with. I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

 

Chat blew out a breath. “Ugh, same here. Papillon is getting kind of… unimpressive with these last few, right? And his timing could  _ not _ be worse.” He glanced at his partner out of the corner of his eye. “If we clean up here do you think I’d still have time to--” 

 

Wait a minute.

 

“Ladybug… did you put on two shades of lipstick today?”

 

Ladybug’s eyes got big, and she touched her lips with the fingers of a nubbly magical fabric gloved hand. She  _ hadn’t _ , but there was  _ definitely  _ a reason he might think so. She wiped her hand across her lips, ineffectually smearing the lipstick further, and mumbled something that might have been “mighta been on a date that was going pretty good is all.”

 

With an understanding nod, Chat breathed a sigh out of his nose. “Same. Let’s do this. What opening line do you want to use?”

 

She grinned. That was sometimes the best part of an akuma attack--deciding what opening threat to use. “How about ‘you’re no match for us?’ I think that’s probably true, too.”

 

“I like it! After you, my lady.”

 

Moments later, they were on the--well it was probably switched around, so some street. They posed, weapons out, and Ladybug called out to the akuma.

 

“Give it up, Switcheroux! You’re no match for us! Stop harassing the people of Paris!”

 

Chat Noir high fived Ladybug.  _ Perfect _ delivery. If anything was going to stop an akuma in its tracks,  _ that _ would. Not that it ever did--probably a Papillon thing--but it was always worth a shot. They were  _ superheroes _ , after all. What was the point if you didn’t offer the villain a fair chance out?

 

* * *

 

“Give it up, Switcheroux! You’re no match for us! Stop harassing the people of Paris!”

 

Ladybug spoke in front of them, but a different voice spoke in their mind. 

 

“That’s right, Switcheroux--you can keep switching around these foreigners--” Papillon felt a little awkward at referring to French people in France as “foreigners,” but know your audience. “--as long as you fetch me Ladybug and Chat Noir’s miraculouses!”

 

“...So is that a yes? You just kinda stood there while--” Chat Noir was interrupted by a splash of gumbo. 

 

“Aw  _ merde _ ,” said Ladybug. “I thought it might have finally worked this ti--”   
  


“ _ Switcheroux! _ ” shouted the akuma, and they did.

 

* * *

 

Ladybug felt… kinda cold all of a sudden. She looked down.

 

Huh… that was sure a lot of black leather that she didn’t remember wearing. Was that a boob window, though?

 

And it was on her hands, too. 

 

And she had a tail.

 

And--

 

Ladybug--if that’s what she currently was--gasped, and with a little squeal, clapped her hands over her nethermost bits. The boob window explained a part of the breeze she felt, but it wasn’t all of it. 

 

No, whoever had designed this suit had left out the  _ entire crotch region _ . 

 

* * *

 

Chat Noir looked over when he heard the gasp, in time to see a young woman in some sort of Chat Noir-inspired costume clap her hands over her velveteen triangle. That was odd--wasn’t Ladybug there just a moment ago? 

 

Weird coincidence, probably. This newcomer--huh, she had the same hairstyle as Ladybug--was in a skintight leather suit, replete with zippers and a belt for a tail and clawed gloves, that was intimately familiar to him. She had the same bell, she had his same ears--but obviously it couldn’t be real. After all,  _ he _ was Chat Noir. Probably a sex thing--this outfit had a boob window that his suit didn’t, and his suit  _ definitely  _ covered him between the thighs and the belly button. 

 

Though why she was surprised by the fact that she didn’t have anything on in that area was anyone’s guess. 

 

Oh of course--she was probably just switcherood with Ladybug, so Ladybug was probably where this young lady had just been, no doubt in some Chat Noir-themed bondage dungeon. Perfectly explainable. 

 

One way or another, the akuma’s attack hadn’t affected him at all. He rounded on Switcheroux, delivering a trademark Chat Noir taunt:

 

“Ah dinny ken wha’ ye’r doin wi tha’ maneuver, mate, but ah canno say it worked too--wait.”

 

_ What the fuck _ , thought Chat Noir.  _ Why do I sound Scottish? _

 

* * *

 

That was Chat Noir’s voice. It  _ sounded _ like him, even with the… idiosyncratic choice of words. Ladybug couldn’t quite bear to look. But then she did, and almost wished she hadn’t.

 

If he hadn’t spoken, she wouldn’t have known it was Chat Noir. Everything was off, not just the wording. 

 

Chat Noir’s normal black leathery suit was replaced with something  _ very _ similar to her own. Red magic-spandex, dotted with black spots. A ladybug-pattern domino mask on his face. A yoyo on his hip. 

 

But for some reason, a red-and-black tartan kilt wrapped around his hips. 

 

_ … What the fuck? _ she thought. 

 

“...Chat Noir?” she asked, tentatively, and he stared at her. 

 

“Och, Ladybug?” he said.  _ What the fuck is with the Scottish accent? _ she asked herself.

 

“THAT’S RIGHT,” said the akuma. “I, SWITCHEROUX, HAVE NOT ONLY TERRORIZED PARIS, BUT I HAVE SWITCHED YOUR MIRACULOUS POWERS! NO ACTION COULD HAVE BEEN MORE DESTRUCTIVE!”

 

* * *

 

Far away, Papillon sighed, and held his head in his hands.

 

* * *

 

“So… you’re nae Ladyboog right now? Ye’re Chat Noir, but wi… yer privates out.”

 

“And you’re… not Chat Noir. You’re Ladybug, with a kilt?”

 

They looked at themselves.

 

“Pleased tae meet ye, Chatte Noire,” he said.

 

Chatte Noire blushed, acutely aware how her current state of dress matched the horrible genital pun in her name. 

 

“Likewise, Laddiebug,” she said.

 

Her counterpart laughed. “Spose ah am, then. Well, let’s on wi’ it.”

 

And thus begin the adventures of Laddiebug and Chatte Noire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to thank those master posts of Scottish tweets, and that one video of the Scots making fun of people who buy bottled water.
> 
> This joke has been in the offing for like a whole YEAR and I am SO glad I finally get to deploy it. I am inordinately proud of how stupid the name "Laddiebug" is.


	36. In Which Laddiebug and Chatte Noire Figure It Out A Little Bit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paris has two NEW superheroes: Laddiebug and Chatte Noire. There is a journey of discovery of how the other half (of the superhero team) lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to anyone who has trouble with the Laddiebug accent text. I owe everything to those posts about Scottish Twitter, and to a 2007 trip to the highlands. My best advice is to sound it out, and pretend you're gargling whiskey in the back of your throat when you say it. That's mostly how I wrote it.

_“So… you’re nae Ladyboog right now? Ye’re Chat Noir, but wi… yer privates out.”_

 

_“And you’re… not Chat Noir. You’re Ladybug, with a kilt?”_

 

_They looked at themselves._

 

_“Pleased tae meet ye, Chatte Noire,” he said._

 

_Chatte Noire blushed, acutely aware how her current state of dress matched the horrible genital pun in her name._

 

_“Likewise, Laddiebug,” she said._

 

_Her counterpart laughed. “Spose ah am, then. Well, let’s on wi’ it.”_

 

_And thus begin the adventures of Laddiebug and Chatte Noire._

 

* * *

 

“But why are you even speaking in an accent? Chat Noir doesn’t have an accent.”

 

“Am no’ a bloody wanker tae haersh a gimmick, naow.”

 

Chatte Noire looked down at her outfit, and decided that Switcheroux probably worked in the video game industry, given how much her costume was revealing. “I don’t like my gimmick very much…”

 

“WEIT,” said Laddiebug. “Ah haf an idea.”

 

He took a few steps back, disentangled a string from around his waist, then threw up his yoyo.

 

“Lucky Charm! Ah’ve always wanted tae do tha!”

 

A burst of sparkles and ladybugs erupted from the air, and produced:

 

One pair of red-and-black spotted panties.

 

“Oh thank goodness,” said Chatte, as she snatched them out of the air.

 

“Ey, no fair! Ye dinna let me say it!”

 

“...Fine.” Chatte Noire handed the panties back to Laddiebug, with a sigh. She could understand, of course. It _was_ the best part of the job.

 

“Knickers? Wha’ am ah gonna do wi’ this?”

 

“I’m going to wear them, Laddibug. Don’t peek.”

 

“Wouldnae dream of i’,” said Laddiebug, who was currently dreaming of it.

 

“There we go,” said Chatte, tugging the undergarments up around her tender bits. “Can I just be Chat Noire, now?”

 

“Wait… tha’ reminds me.” Laddiebug turned away, and lifted the front of his kilt. When he dropped it and turned back around, he was noticeably paler around the red of the mask.

 

“So?”

 

“Aye, tha’ settles it. Am wearin’ it regimental style. Av gone proper.”

 

“What?”

 

“Mah undercarriage is in tha same boat as ye, Chatte. There’nt a stitch on unner me kilt.”

 

Chatte inclined her head, peeping the edge of the tartan. “Rrrreally…”

 

“Och, meh virtue,” he said. “Let’s heavy wreck this knob-end.”

 

“I don’t know what that means, but sure!”

 

With Chatte Noire somewhat decent (in all magical leather plus one item of magical cotton), and Laddiebug going commando (or as they say in French, _commando_ ) under his kilt, they were more or less as prepared as they were going to be to fight an akuma. With different powers than they usually had.

 

That would probably be fine.

 

_Though_ , Laddiebug thought, _it might be a little awkward to have to take Chatte Noire’s panties off to use them for the Miraculous power… or to defeat Switcheroux…_

 

_Well, I’ll avert my gaze from that heavenly intersection when I come to it_ . _Time to learn how to yo-yo._

 

* * *

 

The yo-yo plinked harmlessly off of a building, on the wrong side of the street from the Akuma, and then rearranged itself into a perfect “rock the baby” arrangement, swinging gently between two other taut strings Laddiebug was holding. He figured he might have a little practicing to do before he was as good as Ladybug with it. At least in terms of offensive capabilities.

 

He _knew_ he should have never given up yo-yo lessons for fencing. What a fool he had been at age five.

 

“How do you even--” said Chatte Noire, before she was interrupted by an untimely extension of her baton. She went rocketing towards the akuma, propelled by her expanding baton being braced against the curb, and collided with the akuma, slapped against their red, white, and blue apron with a leathery _smack_.

 

… _Weall, at leas’ there’s a laernin’ cerve fr tha bouth’f us_ , thought Laddiebug, Scottishly.

 

Switcheroux grabbed Chatte Noire with one meaty American mitt and hurled her back towards Laddiebug. He dove, his heart thumping somewhere around his tonsils at the sight of his lady in danger--even if she was sort of his kitten, at the moment. Or as the French would say, _minou_ , but with the right gender or tense or something probably.

 

He skidded across the pavement, Chatte in hand, carefully making sure there was no _chatte_ in hand. Laddiebug was a professional, after all, and Chatte Noire’s suit wasn’t… _exactly_ as covering as his version was.

 

As a superheroic clump, they came to a stop by way of smacking into the side of a bus. Laddiebug shook himself to clear the sparkles behind his eyelids.

 

“Are ye okay, mah La--” he stopped, both because referring to Chatte Noire as “my Lady” was a little bit off, and because the pelvis region wasn’t the _only_ place her suit was inadequately covering.

 

Laddiebug’s face turned as bright red as most of his suit, most of his kilt, and most Scotsmen after an afternoon in the sun, and averted his gaze as far away from Chatte’s chest as he was able. Her boob window had, in the midst of the tumble, become more of a boob egress.

 

“Em, Chatte Noire, am noticin’ yer costume dinnae haf the saem, em, bust support as ye may be used tae,” he said.

 

Chatte blinked, titty out. “What? What did that even mean, Laddiebug? I don’t--” Laddiebug’s dialect, and indirectness, took a moment to process. And the sudden presence of a chilly breeze--which felt a little _extra_ chilly--helped.

 

Looking down, Chatte Noire gave an appropriately feline yelp, and cupped a hand over her extremely out-in-the-open nip. Switcheroux’s attack had left her saving Paris, revolutionary-style, as Alya might say. Tit out.

 

“This boob window is _the worst_ ! They _never_ show a tiddy popping out in the cartoons! Majestia doesn’t have to deal with this shit, I bet,” grumbled Chatte Noire as she stuffed her boob back into her costume. “Stupid sexist costume design. Stupid boob window.”

 

She bounced up and down a few times to settle the _pamplemoussettes_ , and lamented the fact that, apparently, her bra disappeared as soon as she transformed. Or when Switcheroux switcherouxed her and Laddiebug. One way or another, the _miches_ were free and attempting to escape. Hopefully, Chatte Noire and Laddiebug would be able to defeat Switcheroux before her wardrobe malfunction made it to social media.

 

“You can turn around now, Laddiebug. I’ve put the ladies away,” she said, elbowing him in the ribs. “I bet you thought you’d have to buy me dinner before you got a peek, huh, _my laddie_.”

 

“Aye, hen, it soounds a bi’ off when ye say tha’,” said Laddiebug. “An fer wha’ it’s waerth, am right mortified tha’ ah stole a glance, I am.”

 

“Don’t worry. A _bunch_ more people have seen my nerps recently and I’m kinda getting used to it,” said Chatte Noire, directly contradicting the blush that was currently suffusing her down to the middle of her boob window. “Totally veteran at this, now. It’s just tits!” She blushed, harder.

 

So did Laddiebug.

 

“Waell, then, I--” and he was cut off by a splash of soup (bisque) which he barely dodge. “Ah, give it up ya fokkin weapon,” he said. “‘Spose we shouldnae get distracted, then.”

 

“Good point, Laddiebug. Parisians are being _seriously_ inconvenienced.”

 

“HEY! I’M VERY DANGEROUS!” shouted the akuma, unconvincingly. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH CHAOS I CAN UNLEASH BY MOVING AROUD POPULAR LANDMARKS?”

 

“...Some?” asked Chatte Noire.

 

“Chatte Noire! Wha’ do ye usually do a’ this paert o’ the scuffle?” asked Laddiebug. “Am heavy runnin’ lo’ on banter.”

 

Chatte took a moment to think, while the akuma recovered from the _sick burn_ she had levied on its Paris-menacing skills. What normally happened? They’d summoned the lucky charm, and she was wearing it… Maybe she had to Cataclysm something? It felt like something was missing.

 

She gasped.

 

“Laddiebug! Do the spots eyes black and white vision thing!”

 

…

 

“Coom again?”

 

Chatte Noire’s nose wrinkled into what would have been a cute frown for a normal person, but which became supernaturally cute on the face of Paris’ number-one superheroine. Even if she was dressed tip to toe in pure magical Male Gaze attire. She adjusted her boob window and tried to imagine how to explain to Laddiebug how using the Lucky Charm usually went.

 

“You know, the Lucky Charm! You have to… kinda… I always… just sort of looked at things,” she said, lamely. “And they would like, click in my head, all like BOOM! BING! They’d flash with ladybug spots! It would illustrate to the audience what I’m about to do!” she said, growing increasingly pink with each syllable.

 

_Perfect. It sounds way stupider out loud than it did in my head. Excellent._ A thought struck her. _Oh my heck I hope Alya isn’t getting this_.

 

_Wait a minute…_

 

“Tha audience, Chatte Noire?” Laddiebug scratched his head, probably right where his erstwhile kitty ears would have been, in confusion.

 

She paled, realizing the true gravity of the situation. The true threat of the akuma.

 

At some point in their diabolical scheming, Switcheroux had switched out the fourth wall.

 

“That’s why we’ve been speaking progressively less French!”

 

“Wha?” asked Laddiebug. “Am pretty certain we’re all French here.”

 

“Nevermind, Ch--Laddie. We’ve got a narrative structure to save.”

  


* * *

 

 

Laddiebug, for his part, was perplexed, but willing to return to the topic at hand.

 

“So yer say’n, am to look a’... things… an’ they… flash, do they?” he said, Caledonianly.

 

“Yes!” Chatte stomped her little booted foot, with its kitty-cat-paw toe cap and its’ impractical six inch stiletto heels (or as the French would say, 15cm). “It just--I don’t know! It’s how good ideas work! Everything else is black and white! Whatever! Aaa!” she said, and extended her baton in frustration, launching herself a few feet into the air before landing catlike ( _get it_ ) in front of the akuma.

 

She made a sound that she’d _intended_ to be a growl, but which honestly was more like a sultry purr, and swung her baton at the akuma’s knees, frustrated. It bonked solidly, which was gratifying, and sent a dull vibration up along the staff’s length and into her hands.

 

_Huh. That’s way more satisfying than the yo-yo, honestly_ , she thought. _I may have to get Chat to switch with me more often._

 

Meanwhile, in the midst of complementing Chatte Noire’s excellent batonwork, Laddiebug tried to parse what the _foutre voler_ Chatte had meant by the “spots eyes black and white vision thing.”

 

_Jus’ look a’ the akuma, she said, then?_ he thought to himself. _Le’ the ideas come tae you, then. Seems a mite easy, dunni’?_

 

And so he squinted, flicking his eyes around the area like he’d seen Ladybug do so many times, usually right before an extremely good plan.

 

Cars… black and white.

 

Trees… black and white.

 

Chatte Noire’s Lucky Charm panties… spotted, but that was normal.

 

Street… black and white.

 

...There had to be something else to it.

 

“Chatte!” he called out. “So it’s nae part o’ the miraculous? You just hafta be… dunno, smaert about i’?”

 

Chatte Noire, in the middle of an elaborate baton-on-spoon duel, shouted over her shoulder. “Yeah it got cleared up on twitter! It’s all you, not the miraculous!”

 

“A’ don’ remember tha’,” thought Laddiebug, still impervious to the switcheroo’d fourth wall. _Now why did ah give up the improvised superhero defense classes when I was four..._

 

Maybe he should end on the panties? That was the Lucky Charm, after all. It would tie everything together, right? Or maybe he was just more intent than necessary on those panties, for perfectly understandable and unprofessional reasons.

 

_Och, we shoul’ raelly debrief moore aboot our poowers an’ abili’ies._

 

…

 

_Ge’ it? Debrief? ‘Cuz the Loocky Chaerm’s a pair of knickers? Briefs means underwear, dunnit?_

 

_…_

 

_Ye know, ah can be a li’l much, am realizing._

 

* * *

 

“Use Ca’aclysm, my--kitty?” suggested Laddiebug, forgetting his partner’s current costume, almost. It took Chatte a few moments to parse his accent, especially with the extra glottal stops.

 

“Oh yeah! Cataclysm,” she said, one hand outstretched as she raced towards Switcheroux. She slapped her hand onto the cobblestones, which would crumble and trap the akuma in the catacombs, or Phantom of the Opera lair, or whatever Paris had going on under this street. Something historical, no doubt.

 

She felt her hand plap ineffectually against the stones. She plapped it a few more times for good measure.

 

“Son of a--”

 

“Nae, nae, ye didnae do the pose,” said Laddiebug. “Ye go’’a add _gravitas_ , ya loon!”

 

“Of course! Our gimmicks! How could I have forgotten! CataCLYYY--” she began, before Laddiebug cut her off.

 

“Weit--they know wha’ we’re up to.” And indeed, Switcheroux had switcherooed themself right on out of the line of fire.

 

They both watched as Switcheroux splashed soup to and fro, switching positions with trees, debris, whatever the equivalent for Dumpster-brand trash receptacles is in France, and so forth. All entirely done without actively being attacked by the superheroes.

 

“... At least this akuma isn’t very competent,” said Chatte.

 

“Cheers,” said Laddiebug.

 

* * *

 

 

While Laddiebug and Chatte Noire skirmished with the akuma, Paris was inconvenienced on a scale of minorly to moderately.

 

The akuma demonstrated both how easy it was to take candy from a baby, and how it doesn’t really count as stealing if you just switch the candy of two different babies. Almost unnoticeably troublesome.

 

People on their daily transit departed the Pont Neuf metro station heading west, only to find themselves arriving again at Pont Neuf, eastbound. Inconvenient.

 

Many individuals arrived at work, believing that they had been scheduled for a shift, when in fact they hadn’t. Or, that they hadn’t, when in fact they had. And until the akuma, they’d been correct. All in all, a managerial nightmare, but hardly _menacing_.

 

The least fortuitous switch was one lucky medical patient who found his procedures switched. While he was very pleased with the bonus kidney he received (bringing his total to three), he overall would have preferred for his broken arm to be set. And while his hospital neighbor was appreciative of the festive pink cast the nurses applied to her arm, she would have ultimately preferred to avoid staying on dialysis. Switcheroux was non-fatal, but potentially at the center of a broadly targeted malpractice lawsuit. Slightly more menacing.

 

And so, the heroes of Paris--in slightly different regalia--pondered how to deal with an increasingly annoying akuma.

 

“I think I’m getting the hang of this baton, Laddiebug. Want to take another go at that soup bowl?”

 

“Am mos’ly concaerned about how we’re going tae use the knickers as a paert o’ the plan to defeat the akuma. Like, am no’ sure if am gonna need ye tae remove them, then.” He crossed his arms, idly tapping his fingers against the suit sleeve, the wind gently blowing his kilt.

 

Chatte Noire tried to avert her gaze--not that she necessarily minded what was under the kilt, you see, but because _plaid_ with _spots_? No thank you.

 

Even if she was _wearing_ a fashion disaster--she glanced down at her decidedly _sans_ -crotch Chatte Noire costume--she still had her pride as a designer. She extended her baton to a comfortable leaning-length and leaned on it (EDITOR’S NOTE: This is very good writing).

 

“You know, now would be a great time for some sort of new Miraculous power to develop, to help us defeat this akuma,” she said. “Any ideas, Laddiebug?”

 

“If we took thae knickers off,” he said, tap-tap-tapping away on his arm, “An’ used them like a _slingsho’_ , maybe we could--”

 

He was cut off in an instant, as his Laddiebug-spotted finger poked the center of a Laddiebug spot, and the entire black circle indented into the suit fabric slightly.

 

It wasn’t pressing the spot that cut him off, however. Rather, it was the billowing gout of flame that erupted from his right hand, burning an advertising pillar to a cinder.

 

He and Chatte just stared.

 

“Wha’ in tha--”

 

“LADDIEBUG what did you DO how did--”

 

“It was the spo’! I just poked a spo’! Wi’ me fainger!” he said, scampering backwards and demonstrating by pressing another one of his spots.

 

With a soft click, and a hiss of static, a tiny voice spoke to both of the superheroes.

 

“ _Oh thank goodness! You finally found the intercom. Can you hear me alright? This is Tikki.”_

 

“TIKKI!?” said Chatte Noire.

 

“There’s a’ _innercom_!?” said Laddiebug.

 

“ _Yes! It’s on the button you just pressed. I can’t believe I forgot to mention it.”_

 

“Forgot to mention it! Tikki, how did youuuUWWWAIT THE SPOTS ARE BUTTONS?!?” asked Chatte Noire, while Laddiebug looked dazed.

 

“Do ah ‘ave a flamethro’er?” Laddiebug looked at his suit, with its dozens upon dozens of spots. “Wha’ all dooes this baeby have?”

 

“Tikki how come you never mentioned I had a flamethrower!? And I thought _destruction_ was more of a Chat Noir thing!”

 

“ _Ah ah ah,”_ said Tikki, with an almost audible wiggle of her kwami-nub _. “You are_ creating _fire!_ ”

 

Both Chatte Noire and Laddiebug spluttered and stuttered out the beginnings of a reply, but Tikki cut them off with as much authority as a tiny magical bug speaking through a magic intercom was able to muster. Which was a lot.

  
“ _Don’t worry about that now! We have to save Paris from being relatively inconvenienced!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you just gotta not write for two months. Sorry for the hiatus, but I'll be trying to write much more this November! Thank you for reading!


	37. In Which They Figure It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chatte Noire and Laddiebug continue to battle Paris' most irking akuma yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey alright it's just been six months no biggie
> 
> This one's a little short, but I'm glad to get it finished and pushed out there. Thanks for y'all's patience!

_ “Do ah ‘ave a flamethro’er?” Laddiebug looked at his suit, with its dozens upon dozens of spots. “Wha’ all dooes this baeby have?” _

 

_ “Tikki how come you never mentioned I had a flamethrower!? And I thought  _ **_destruction_ ** _ was more of a Chat Noir thing!” _

 

**_“Ah ah ah_** _,” said Tikki, with an almost audible wiggle of her kwami-nub. “_ ** _You are_** **creating** ** _fire_** _!”_

 

_ Both Chatte Noire and Laddiebug spluttered and stuttered out the beginnings of a reply, but Tikki cut them off with as much authority as a tiny magical bug speaking through a magic intercom was able to muster. Which was a lot. _

 

_ “ _ **_Don’t worry about that now! We have to save Paris from being relatively inconvenienced!”_ **

 

* * *

As might be expected, the citizens of Paris were inconvenienced for slightly longer as Laddiebug and Chatte Noire figured out just what exactly all the spots did. By which I mean, apparently, the buttons. 

 

“Does this work?” asked Chatte, poking one of Laddiebug’s spots. Nothing happened. “Huh… guess it has to be the miraculous holder--or whoever’s in the suit, I mean.”

 

“Well, am pretty sure it’s no’ touch ID,” he replied. “Am thinking, mebbe magic.”

 

“ _ Yep! _ ” said Tikki, a small buzz 

 

“Should we set up a PIN?” Chatte drummed her fingers along her baton. “Something memorable, in case we need to use someone else’s powers. Tikki, would that work?”

 

_ “Of course! Magic keeps up with communication technology, so it’s simple. Now, back in the day, Lady Ug and Chat Noiranderthal had to bang magic rocks together to get in touch.” _

 

“ _ How _ old are you, again, Tikki?”

 

“Ah, come on then, it’s rude tae ask a lady’s age,” said Laddiebug, who was abruptly jiggled off of his feet by a bass note emanating from his suit. “Seems tha’s the subwoofer.”

 

“As much as I want to explore the button abilities, Laddiebug--” Here Chatte Noire was interrupted by a splash of akuma soup she had to dodge. “--I think we need to focus on defeating Switcheroux right now.”

 

“Weit!” Laddiebug skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding another splash of deadly (not really) akuma soup. “If tha Laddiebug suit has spo’s tha’ are bu’ons, am wondering wha’ we might be missing in the Chatte Noire suit.”

 

Their eyes met across the Rue de… something (it had probably gotten switched) and they both gasped. 

 

“The zipper!” said Chatte Noire, unzipping one of the aforementioned  _ fermeture éclair  _ and dipping her hand in. “I’ve got something!” 

 

She and Laddiebug huddled over her opening hand to see what powerful magical artifact might have been stored in the black cat’s pockets. They could barely contain their excitement--it’s not every day you discover new superpowers  _ and  _ the akuma is harmless enough (“Hey!” said Switcheroux, to me, the author, as they had already switched the fourth wall) to give you some time to futz around.

 

Chatte opened her hand to reveal…

 

Three condoms, a bullet vibrator, and a two pack of poppers. 

 

“Plagg? Wha’ o’ Aerth?”

 

“ _ Okay in my defense _ ,” said Plagg, over the magical intercom. “ _ Those came with the costume when the akuma switched it. Totally not my fault.” _

 

Laddiebug picked up the poppers, ignoring the low-grade mayhem from the akuma. “Wha’ even  _ aere _ these?”

 

“ _ Wow I guess you really don’t remember your past lives in the ‘90’s. Nevermind. I’ll tell you when you’re older.” _

 

Shaking his head, Laddiebug looked up at Chatte Noire. “Well--are ye ready tae give i’ anoother go?”

 

“Ha ha! Definitely! And I’m definitely not saving that vibrator and condoms for later! Why even bring it up, you know? Ha! Yep! Fighting!” she said, in a completely non-suspicious manner, and raced off. 

 

* * *

 

“AKUMA DODGE!” said Switcheroux, switching theirself away from the onrushing heroes.

 

“AKUMA JUMP!” they said, leaping over a swing of Chatte Noire’s baton.

 

“AKUMA STRIKE!” Switcheroux concluded, as they announced each and every one of their actions. In this final case, they’d gone with a punch.

 

“Akuma  _ miss _ ,” said Chatte Noire, which was true.

 

* * *

 

Laddiebug furrowed his brow, furrowed it harder, and then furrowed it harder  _ still _ . He had to figure out the black and white spots vision thing--was that what Chatte had called it?  _ Somehow _ he had to put the pieces together for how to defeat the akuma. 

 

Wait a minute… 

 

_ Tha’s i’, then! _ he thought to himself, in moderately Glaswegian fashion. 

 

Large curved piece of debris… spots.

 

Sturdy-looking banner stuck between two lampposts… spots.

 

One of Paris’ ubiquitous Adrien Agreste billboards… spots.

 

Unseated stop sign (or as the French would say,  _ panneau d'arrêt _ )... spots.

 

Chatte Noire’s Lucky Charm panties… spots!

 

He knew how to take the akuma down. 

 

“Chatte Noire! Ah think ah haf it!” shouted Laddiebug, hopping up and down in his excitement, and giving Chatte Noire a tantalizing, near scandalous peek up the kilt with every bounce. “Am needin’ yer knickers, tho.” 

 

She looked down, sighing, eyes drawn to the red-and-black spotted unmentionables that were the only miraculous barrier between her modesty and the greater Paris metropolitan area. 

 

On one level, she  _ knew _ that they’d have to come off to defeat the akuma. They pretty much always needed the lucky charm. But she was definitely hoping to not flash more of herself to the grateful citizens of France than absolutely necessary. And she wasn’t convinced that she would be fighting at her best while covering her--what had Adrien said?-- _ velveteen treasure _ with one hand. 

 

Shaking her head, she cursed the American video game designer or fanservice-oriented mangaka behind her current crotchless Chatte Noire costume swap, and slid a hand into her panties in the least sexy context she could possibly envision. With her other hand, she pulled them down and stepped out of the miraculous delicates, and whipped them over to Laddiebug with one finger. 

 

“I sure hope you know what you’re doing, my laddie! There’s definitely a breeze!”

 

“Am no’ lookin’, my… kitty. But! Ca’ ye Ca’aclysm tha’ billboard?”

 

“The one with Adrien on it? Absolutely not.”

 

“Wh--”

 

“I mean… okay.”

 

_ There’s pro’bly a’ explanation fer tha, _ thought Laddiebug.  _ Well, be’er no’ think aboot i’ again. _

 

Laddiebug got to jury-rigging, as Chatte Noire pulled a Chat Noir and attracted everyone’s attention with frantic antics. She catapulted herself, danced maniacally, and gave the Iberian salute to Switcheroux, but since that’s more of a European thing, they didn’t really get the  _ full _ import of the gesture. What can you do. 

 

Luckily enough, Switcheroux wasn’t as heavily armed as the average American. Chatte was able to adroitly dodge her way around multiple splashes of magical soup, pirouetting in such a way that various fire hydrants and scooters and Officer Roger and were swapped, but she wasn’t. In retrospect, she wasn’t even sure what would have  _ happened _ if she’d gotten switcheroux’d again--it wasn’t exactly a high-damage ability, and she’d already been switched once. But old habits die hard. 

 

And she managed ALL of that with one hand cupped over the goods. 

 

* * *

 

“Och, this migh’ do i’,” said Laddiebug, hooking the band of the Lucky Charm panties around his thumb, and bracing the butt of a stop sign pole on the opposite side of the band, like the largest, clumsiest slingshot in the Metropole. “I’s no’ tha  _ leas _ ’ likely, innit?”

 

He lined up his shot, squinted, and called out: “Chatte Noire! Now!”

 

From the other side of the battlefield, he heard the familiar--but not too familiar--shout of “Cataclysm!”

 

* * *

_ It’s nice to see how the other half lives _ , thought Chatte to herself, as she ran a hand full of entropic magic across the supports of a billboard. 

 

_ Oooh, it tingles! _

 

From the other side of the battlefield, a  _ twang _ sounded.

 

She turned her face back to the toppling structure, watching Adrien Agreste’s gigantic, pristine face on the advertisement descend to crush Switcheroux. She found herself a little jealous, acknowledged that that was weird, and shook her head to clear it, which had the unintended effect of popping a tiddy out of the newfangled Chatte Noire costume tit-window. 

 

_ Perfect _ . She adjusted herself (with one hand, of course--the other was covering her tender zone), eyes locked on the akuma as the billboard descended.

 

From the other side of the battlefield, something made a  _ clang _ and then a  _ shwoop _ and then a  _ whewwwwwwww  _ sort of a whistling sound.

 

The akuma splashed up a dose of magical switching soup, obviously trying to switcheroux the billboard to be something less dangerous--a tactic they’d been using to great effect. And it would have worked this time, too.

 

Except that Laddiebug had used the Lucky Charm panties to launch the stop sign so that it  _ clanged _ against an impromptu debris half-pipe, which then redirected it into a sturdy banner with a  _ shwoop _ , which then rocketed it right into the path of the akuma soup with a whistling  _ whewwwwwww _ sort of noise. 

 

It was a classic defense that akumas had used on Chat a number of times--get something in between the  _ magic _ and what the magic is  _ supposed _ to hit. It worked for Copycat, and it worked  _ on _ Switcheroux.

 

Soup splashed onto a white  _ ARRET _ on a red octagon, and then  _ fwoop _ . 

 

Switcheroux’s final moments (as an akuma, I mean--not like in a murder way) left them reflecting on how it would have been nice if they’d switched that billboard with a throw pillow, and how the throw pillow that had replaced the stop sign they’d  _ actually _ hit with soup wasn’t going to do much to cushion the impact of seventy square meters of perfume ad. 

 

“Tarnation,” they said.

 

* * *

 

After that, smashing the akumatized soup bowl was trivial, much like the danger posed by Switcheroux. Laddiebug’s excitement, however, was  _ far _ from trivial.

 

“Nae moore evildooing fer ye, li’l akumae,” said Laddiebug, just  _ really _ laying it heavy with the accent. Chatte, for her part, giggled behind her free hand. 

 

“Am finally aeble to dae it! Miraculous Laddiebug!” said Laddiebug, gleefully Scottish, as he threw the panties in the air. Apparently the accent wasn’t a problem for the magic, and so bang, boom, you got a magical panacea.

 

The sight of your panties flying through the air, however magically-relevant in the moment, is never a cause for calmness.

 

“Hey! I need tho--oh right,” said Chatte, realizing that she was really in no place to use the Lucky Charm, being currently Chatte Noire instead of Ladybug, and also really needing to sacrifice her privacy for the sake of restoring Paris. “Riiiiight…”

 

* * *

 

The ladybugs engulfed Chatte Noire and Laddiebug, glowed, and swarmed off to re-situate various monuments. In their wake stood a restored Ladybug and Chat Noir, gleefully patting their suits and reveling in the fact that they provided the correct level of coverage. 

 

“What happened?,” said the former Switcheroux, current married tourist duo. 

 

“I’m going to be honest, bugaboo, I think I’ll miss the accent. We should swap more often.”

 

“There’s been a lot of swapping in my life lately,” said Ladybug.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Nothing. I’m not… opposed. But  _ please _ keep in mind that if we swap, I start looking like the protagonist of one of those dating sims you have to wear a hat and trench coat to buy.”

 

“Point taken. Maybe next time, if we do it on purpose it’ll be better?” Chat Noir tapped his chin with a finger. “You know… If you’ve got a bunch of buttons that do stuff we didn’t know about, doesn’t that make you wonder what other magical secrets are attached to the miraculouses?”

 

“Definitely. I mean, how many spots do I even have? This might take a while to sort out. How do you think we should--” Ladybug was stopped mid-thought by Chat Noir’s frantic gesticulations, and mumbling. 

 

“Saru, Tatsu, Ne, Tori, Mi, Ushi…” and so on.

 

“What are you doing?” she asked. 

 

Chat Noir paused, mid-hand-seal, and gave Ladybug a Look.

 

“Don’t play like you never watched Naruto.”

 

“...............Yeah…”

 

“KAGE BUNSHIN NO JUTSU,” said Chat Noir, to no avail. “Dang.”

 

“Looks like we’re still in a magical girl anime, Chat,” said Ladybug, as she punched him lightly in the shoulder, grinning. “Don’t worry, you can be my shonen protagonist any--oh no! Fuck! I was in the middle of--uh--a thing! Yep!”

 

Chat, ears droopy from his inability to harness chakra, let alone pull off  _ any _ forbidden jutsu, suddenly perked up. “Uh! Yeah! Same! Gotta… go!”

 

They ran off in opposite directions, in a departure that wasn’t even in their top  _ hundred _ most awkward excuses.

 

* * *

“Marinette, babe, I have a conundrum.” 

 

Alya was reclined, feet propped up across Marinette’s lap as her brand-spankin’-new girlfriend collapsed lightly across the back of the couch. 

 

“Hmm? Whazzit, also babe?”

 

“I got this great picture of Ladybug, but…”

 

“Oh cool! I, uh, don’t know anything about that!” said Marinette, convincingly. “Boy, I can’t wait to see it on the Ladyblog!”

 

“That’s just the thing… I don’t think I can post it.”

 

_ That _ got Marinette’s attention. Alya not posting something? Not posting a  _ picture _ ? Of  _ Ladybug _ ?

 

“First of all, she was… well, I guess she got Switcherouxed? That was the akuma, by the way, which you obviously had no way of knowing.”

 

“Right, news to me!”

 

“So she was in this black cat suit, like Chat Noire, but designed by the people who made Final Fantasy XIV armor.” 

 

“Ohhhhhhh….” said Marinette, trying to sound like she had just heard something she had no prior knowledge of.

 

Alya draped an arm across her eyes and wriggled uncomfortably. 

 

“I was the only reporter on the scene. Everyone else got switched away. And I got this  _ great _ action shot where she’s dodging some soup--okay look it’s just soup but it’s still really acrobatic--and it’s got perfect  _ dynamism _ and I took it before Nino dragged me to a moderately  _ safer _ space, and it’s  _ perfect _ it’s the best picture I think I’ve  _ ever taken _ of Ladybug. Or Chatte Noire. Whatever--whoever the heroine is under there.”

 

“Ha ha yeah! Whoever she is!” said Marinette, anxiously pulling at her collar and looking left and right rapidly.

 

“But--” Alya sighed. “She got a titty out.” 

 

“OH! Ohhhh…” said Marinette, who was definitely remembering several moments of…  _ adjustment _ she’d had to make. “Do you, uh… want me to give you a second opinion?”

 

Alya shook her head, rubbing her feet together in consternation. “Can’t. Ladybug didn’t say you could see. Hell,  _ I _ shouldn’t have seen it, you know? Involuntary nudity isn’t great.”

 

Marinette nodded. It was  _ definitely _ not great.

 

_ Consensual _ nudity, on the other hand...

 

“I think I gotta… I think I have to delete it. I could censor it, but like… it just doesn’t feel right. An unintended bahonkadoo picture. She just popped out of a useless boob window! That’s not cool.”

 

Marinette squeezed Alya’s leg, appreciating the struggle she had to go through to not publish such a picture--after all, Marinette had been there, and had a pretty good idea of how rad it must have looked, even controlling for boobs. 

 

“UGH, and it was such a  _ good _ tiddy. Goodbye, tiddy,” said Alya, mock-tearfully, deleting the image. “I’ll miss you.”

 

_ Not for long, though _ , thought Marinette.

 

“Curse my unimpeachable moral compass.” Alya ran a hand through her hair and sighed, smirking at Marinette, only partially conflicted.

 

“Hey now! That moral compass is one of the many reasons I let you make out with me. You made the right chioce. Besides,” said Marinette, dialing up the impishness in her grin, “after such a conundrum, you need a distraction, and I think I’ve got  _ two _ titties here that you can do  _ much more _ than gaze at longingly.”

 

“Darling, you know just how to cheer me up.” Alya bit her lip as Marinette lifted her shirt higher, and higher. “And you know what… I think I like your titties even more than Ladybug’s.” She leaned forward, running her hand up Marinette’s back, and unclasping her bra with a single deft motion. 

 

Marinette smiled, partially to herself, and her shirt hit the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I've had a lot going on that wrecked my ability to write, but the influx of new episodes helped. 
> 
> oh and I'm also declaring the final number of chapters I intend to write: Sixty-nine
> 
> **THE SEX NUMBER**


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